


It's straight down the line for both of us, remember?

by SophiaThePixelGarden



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: 1930s, Detective AU, Detective!shane, Drinking, M/M, Please Choke Responsibly, Sexy Times, Smoking, also uM don’t have unprotected sex! lmfao, hey kids? don’t do drugs, it’s dramatic not angsty alright?, it’s just for the aesthetic, let’s get into the theories.mp3, mild violence (possibly as PART of the sexy times), now with that being said, ooh! hello handcuffs!!, period-typical homophobia but I honest to god try to approach the whole thing in a fun way, spoiler alert: Ricky Goldsworth is Ryan Bergara :o, ya gurl Jen gets a shout out but probably not for long enough to warrant tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-10-06 06:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17340089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaThePixelGarden/pseuds/SophiaThePixelGarden
Summary: It’s Arizona, 1932. Desire flutters down like dust over the red-hot streets, and Detective Shane Madej happens upon the most fascinating man he’s ever met.With speakeasies, sex and swing – what’s not to love?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **BIGASS disclaimer that I don’t live in the US nor the 1930s and was basically going off of Google images and what I learned about Prohibition-era America in high school history (“there was crime”). I might have Gotten Some Things Wrong.  
> the title (and a random line or two of dialogue lmfao) is from the film Double Indemnity.  
> if you find any grammatical, spelling or formatting errors, let me know and I’ll fix them!
> 
> for now, just sit back, put on your favourite funky electro swing mix, and enjoy!

Shane always tried to be careful – it was necessary, if not a bit of a guilty pleasure.

That’s why he was so slow walking down the dry Arizona street in the dark, lazily reaching one gloved hand to strum along the rusted bars that ran adjacent to him. The streetlights flanking the building flickered every time a car rumbled past, making it hard to tell, but he figured the hand-scrawled sign out front was advertising some shady loan agency, promising quick cash and no questions.

Once he reached the intersection, he waited, absent-mindedly twisting a foot into the concrete to stub out an imaginary cigarette. A calculated moment after the lights clicked red, bringing a line of silver machines to a hasty stop, he threaded himself through the impatient traffic.

He reached up to pat the left side of his chest, fingers pressing against the hidden breast-pocket, hand-sewn into the seam of his long, black coat. It was small and slightly crooked, unable to hold much more than his half-empty, metal box of Marlboros. Even in the dusty summer air, he was dying for a smoke – but brought his hand back down to his hip, leaving it for the moment.

He paused in front of the hotel, glancing through the dirty windows, eyeing the dying palm trees decorating the inside. The sign hanging across the front was crooked, stained red with dust, optimistic letters spelling out “Williams’ Sea Resort”.

Shane smiled, slightly shaking his head to himself. He hadn’t seen the ocean since he was seventeen.

Walking past, following a row of scratched-up garage doors, clamped down with locks the size of his fist, Shane found what he was looking for – a narrow door, tucked away in the space between two buildings, made up to look as deep and black as an alleyway. He touched his cigarette box again, comforted by its usual weight, before pulling the door back and treading down the stairs, taking it one foot at a time.

◦◦◦

Shane couldn’t tell if the speakeasy was any better illuminated than the street he’d just come from, though it was certainly just as hot. Clusters of melting candles cast warm light over all the dark, wooden surfaces, their hazy glow filtered through wisps of forgotten smoke. They were scattered over the tables and bar, dripping thin, orange lines down the edges of the place’s patrons.

A few of the figures shifted as Shane made his way to the bar, turning their faces away from the intrusion. He ignored them, pulling a stool out at the nearly-empty bar, purposely leaving an empty seat between himself and the man to his right.

Settling into his chair, he strained to look over the bartender’s shoulder, reading the sign which boasted the bar’s specials. Whiskey, gin, tequila... All good options, sure, but nothing jumped out at him. Honestly, anything with ice was looking pretty appealing. The bartender caught his eye, but Shane waved him away, muttering that he was still deciding. After taking a look over the colourful bottles on display, still unsure, he decided to start with a drag.

He stuffed his gloves into the pockets of his coat before shrugging the whole thing off, laying it out over his lap. Now sporting a white, wrinkled button-up shirt, tied up in black suspenders, he slumped over the bar, letting out a slow, tired breath. Reaching into his coat’s hidden pocket, he pulled out his cigarette case, popping the metal box open against the bar with a quiet _clink_. He plucked out a cigarette, placing it between his lips and looking for his lighter, hands roaming over all his pockets, coat, pants, inside, outside – _huh?_ – no dice.

Clicking his teeth together in an annoyed bite, he rested both elbows across the counter, frowning. He was sure he’d had it on him. Glancing over at the gentleman across from him, Shane watched him take a deep drink of something dark and bubbly, and felt his throat grow thirsty.

The man put his drink down with a dull thud, making the ice jump up as it hit the table. Shane stared at the drops of condensation trickling down the glass, his tongue automatically working over the dry cigarette to lick his lips.

“See something you like?” the man asked, pulling Shane out of his stupor. The guy’s words were rough, and seemed to blur together, but he had something of a smile over his face. His dark eyes briefly fluttered over Shane’s body, following the lines his suspenders drew down his chest.

“Hm...” Shane smiled back through his cigarette, sheepish. “Uh, yeah, actually. What’s that you’re drinking?”

The man picked his glass back up, using it to point at the specials board. “Bourbon and coke.” He tilted his head slightly, looking back at Shane. “What’s that you’re smoking?”

Shane pulled the drag out of his mouth, playing with it in his hands. “Not much right now. I’ve... misplaced my lighter.”

“I see,” the man replied, a thoughtful look passing across his face. He stared at Shane’s mouth for a moment before picking up one of the candles, using his other hand to cup the flame. “Here,” he said, motioning for Shane to put the cigarette back in his mouth.

Letting out a soft chuckle, Shane leaned in as the man brought the candle towards him, using it to light Shane’s smoke. The fire was hot against his face, and as Shane concentrated on the candle, trying to avoid eye contact, he watched drops of wax drip off the side. They fell to form translucent white domes on the collar of his coat, just missing his pants.

After a few seconds, the man finally pulled back, grinning as Shane took the first drag.

“Thanks,” Shane breathed, a plume of white smoke following the word. He held the cigarette between two fingers, self-consciously ashing it into a nearby tray. “I’m Shane, by the way.”

“Ricky.” He looked over Shane again, in that strange, scientific way, like he was taking in every hair that had fallen out of place, every stain on his shirt. He turned to motion to the bartender, hand fluttering dangerously close to one of the candles, ordering two more bourbon and cokes, before looking back at Shane. “On me.”

Shane smiled at that, finally deciding to move over to the empty stool. “I should be getting you something.”

Ricky shrugged. “We can find time for that, too.” He casually picked up his glass, sipping at the ice, before eyeing Shane, head half-turned at an awkward angle. The light glimmered bright orange droplets across his eyes, burying the rest of his face under dark blue shadows. “What brings you here, Shane?”

The way Ricky moved his head, imprecise and drunk – mixed together with that darn lopsided smile – sparked an unexpected patch of red-hot skin over the back of Shane’s neck. He took another drag, shielding the cigarette and part of his face through slightly trembling fingers, resisting the urge to bite down.

“Oh, well,” he breathed out, watching as the bartender set two fresh glasses down. “The past few weeks have just been a little longer than usual.” A flurry of ice and tall, crystal bottles clinked away as he poured their drinks. “That’s all.”

“Tell me about it,” Ricky muttered, nodding his thanks. “Anything in particular got you down?”

“Well.” Shane took a sip, sighing a little as the icy drink turned to heat against the back of his throat. “In this type of establishment...” Shane mused, smiling mysteriously. “It’s probably best not to say.”

“Oh?” Ricky mimed looking over both shoulders, eyes comically narrowed to survey the area, before he leaned in – so close that Shane could smell his cologne. Something expensive and unfamiliar, probably French. “Why? Are you... a _cop?”_

Shane grinned, taking another drink. “You could say that.”

Ricky laughed, swishing the liquid in his glass until it threatened to spill.

“Hope you’re not here to get _me_.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.” The last word rolled a little too easily off Shane’s tongue, but his brain was working too slow to really focus on that particular detail. Instead, he looked over at the tables behind them, watching the backs of the figures playing cards in the shadows, restless and drinking, laughing low. “The law’s not on tonight.”

“Good news for me,” Ricky replied, a downright dirty smile cutting across his face, and Shane wondered what he planned to do that needed the law out of the way. He decided not to think about it, taking another drag, until a hand pressed against his shoulder.

“Hm?” Shane looked over to Ricky, a snake of smoke still swirling out the corner of his lips.

“Mind if I...?” Ricky was staring at the cigarette, dark irises stuck to Shane’s mouth. Shane began to reach for his box again, but Ricky stopped him, one hand lightly pressing against his chest. “Don’t worry about all that,” he hummed, slowly reaching towards Shane’s face. He lightly gripped his jaw with one hand, using the other pull the cigarette out of his mouth. Shane opened his lips in a small, slightly shocked gap, letting it go.

Ricky tilted his head back, closing his eyes as he took a drag. The inhale pushed his Adam’s apple out against his throat, drawing Shane’s eyes to the patch of stubble that lined the base of his jaw, the beads of sweat that collected there.

He breathed out slowly, expertly, letting smooth, mushroom-shaped clouds of smoke fall from his lips, a few stray wisps spilling from his nose, before grinning up at Shane. “Thanks.”

“Oh. Sure. Anytime,” Shane said, quietly fanning his neck with the collar of his shirt, trying to cool the sweat that had spiked over his body. He rolled his shoulders back, quietly groaning under the heat, before clinking the ice inside his now painfully empty glass. “Y’fancy anything else to drink?”

Ricky sat up a little straighter, half an inch of ash now drooping from his right hand.

“Hmm... I’m a big fan of the cola. Got a bit of a sweet tooth,” he slurred, eyes glimmering polish-black in the candlelight. He played with the cigarette for a moment, rolling it between his fingers. “Yeah.” He stubbed it out in one of the already overcrowded ashtrays. “I’m a sucker for sugar.”

“Got it,” Shane said, signalling for refills on both drinks.

They drank in a soft absence of words, enjoying the burn as it rolled over their throats. The moment was blanketed in the noises of the bar – dice rolling and cards being shuffled behind them, the bartender bringing out buckets of freshly crushed ice, swing music playing over the gramophone.

Ricky eventually downed his drink, sighing with pleasure. He looked over at Shane.

“This is your first time here, isn’t it?” he asked.

“You’re a regular here, aren’t you?” Shane replied, mimicking his inquisitive tone. His voice felt louder, smoother than usual. “What, you wanna play detective with me? Because you’re talking to the real deal here.”

“Really?” The long shadows running down Ricky’s face did a bad job at hiding his slanted smile. “I don’t know. I think I could beat you.”

“Beat me? At my own game?” Shane shook his head, struggling to keep upright on the barstool. It had been a while since he’d had a drink – a real, good drink – but he had to pretend that Ricky didn’t know that. “Yeah... huh, right...”

“You’re not on your top form, detective,” Ricky sang, clumsily drumming his fingers against the bar. “What else would you be doing, crawling into a... a _dump_ like this? Drowning your sorrows, that’s what. How’s that for reading a clue?”

“Oh you—you wanna, wanna...go there...get personal, do ya?” Shane gripped the edge of the bar in an attempt to hold himself steady, and started to laugh. “You wanna—hey Ricky, you wanna dance?”

A grin struck Ricky’s face like lightning, wicked and bright. “’Scuse me?”

“I asked you...” Shane pointed to the floor near the gramophone, arm long and loose, fingers unfurled. He leaned down to Ricky, pushing into his space until their shoulders brushed against each other. “I said,” he murmured, voice sly and secretive, “do you wanna fucking _dance_?”


	2. Chapter 2

On the dance floor, Shane let his body twist and jive to the jumping rhythms of swing. As the music grew louder, faster, Ricky brought a hand up to Shane’s hip, hooking it around his waist. Happy and warm, Shane playfully reached for his other hand, squeezing it, until the two were tangled, dancing in a mess of drunk, looping limbs. Liberated by the hot darkness which wrapped around them, sticking to them like sweat, they shook and shivered closer and closer together, buried deep in the mass of moving bodies.

At some point, Ricky reached over to Shane’s belt, sliding up along his suspenders. He curled his fingers under the leather straps, carefully following the lines up to Shane’s shoulders. Shane felt the touch brush over his nipples – and he realised that Ricky’s warm, slightly wet skin was only separated from his by the thin fabric of his cheap dress shirt. A sudden, sharp movement of Ricky pulling on his suspenders left a trail of goosebumps in its wake, making Shane shudder.

He began to close his eyes, flashing a half-focused smile as Ricky cupped his jaw, pulling his face down to meet his. Shane mumbled a question in response, practically speaking into Ricky’s mouth.

“What?”

He leaned into Ricky’s ear, an arm drooped over his shoulder, brushing against his back.

“Is this okay? For us...” he exhaled, breath stained in smoke and bourbon, “...in here. Dancing. As... gentlemen.” Shane’s face grew hot with a dull sense of shame.

“Oh, baby,” Ricky purred, low voice sending a rush of blood straight down to Shane’s dick. “We can do whatever you want.”

“You _mean_ that?” Shane asked, eyes opening innocent, words sloshing together like half-melted ice.

Ricky gestured vaguely at the people around them. “Half of them are the same,” he said, winking. “Barman don’t mind.” He tilted his head, looking over Shane. “I guess the law doesn’t, either. Not as long as we pay our bills and don’t shoot no one.”

Shane stood up straight, towering over Ricky – something Ricky realised was not only a great tactic to intimidate would-be criminals, but also a _huge_ turn-on – before gripping the sides of his face with both hands. He kissed rough and sloppy, drunkenly lapping against Ricky’s bottom lip until they both opened their mouths, tongues pushing against each other. His beard scratched against Ricky’s stubble, licking hot fire across his chin.

They twisted and turned to the rhythm, leaning in deeper and harder to drink the smoke and sweat out of each other. Their hands eventually met again, tangled together, swinging back and forth to the beat. Shane circled his thumbs over the rises and ridges etched into Ricky’s palms, relishing in the rough lines drawn in dried skin. He was too drunk at the moment, but he swore that he’d run his fingers over the same patches again and again until he’d committed the patterns to memory.

The two kept kissing, riding the wave of the crowd their bodies were caught up in until Shane was pushing Ricky against the back wall, running a hand across the stiff fabric of his button-up. He shuddered as Ricky pressed a knee between his legs, unthinkingly grinding against the pleasant weight, a strangled sound escaping his mouth. Ricky chuckled at that, humming against Shane’s mouth.

Shane opened his eyes, pulling back to take a breath, and studied the dark patches etched under the corner of Ricky’s eyes, the shape of his black, perfectly slicked-back hair.

“Jesus,” he murmured, leaning back in to leave a trail of kisses along Ricky’s jawline.

Ricky laughed as Shane’s beard brushed against the delicate skin of his neck.

“What does he have to do with this?”

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Shane whispered, ignoring the snark. He lightly tugged down on the short hairs at the base of Ricky’s head, sucking a small patch into his neck.

“Maybe you’re just drunk,” Ricky mused, hoping he was just imagining all the blood he felt rushing to his face.

“Doesn’t matter,” Shane growled, biting down on a patch of skin until Ricky let out a moan. Then, with a slight quiver to his voice, somewhat masked by the music: “You know, I’ve got more drinks at my place.”

Ricky smiled up at him, wrapping his fingers over Shane’s elbows. “Is that your way of being subtle?”

Shane managed a crooked grin, pressing Ricky harder against the wall, kneeling down to whisper until his tongue was practically pushing against his ear. “Oh, I could be a bit more direct, if you _want,”_ he conceded, pushing a hand into Ricky’s chest. “...I could let you know everything.”

Ricky’s breath caught in his throat, letting out in a strained sigh, smelling of the stolen cigarette. He hummed a hopefully nonchalant noise, trying not to let his nerve show. “Everything?”

Shane licked his lips. “Yeah. Everything I want you to do to me. Everything I’m gonna do to _you_.” He felt the hot tobacco on Ricky’s breath and tilted Ricky’s head up to face him, using his thumb to open his mouth. “Maybe even something about how I’m gonna punish you.”

Ricky pressed Shane’s hand up to his mouth, stifling another moan against the back of his palm. “Yeah?” he said, voice muffled.

“Yeah. Or,” Shane mused, winking, “we could just get to my place and start.”

Ricky pulled Shane by the elbow as they dashed to the bar, leaving a sizable tip in a fistful of cash. They grabbed their coats and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

◦◦◦

They climbed into the back of a cab, painfully separated by the middle seat. Shane muttered his address in a low voice as the driver zoomed down the road.

Running a hand through his hair, slick with sweat, he laid his coat on his lap, trying to hide the way his foot was tapping on the taxi floor. _Business partners,_ he thought to himself. _Ricky’s got a suitcase, and I’ve got my coat. We’re just business partners, Mr. Cab Driver._

As the car rumbled over the uneven asphalt, Shane shifted in his seat, tilting his head to look over Ricky out of the corner of one eye. Breath still hot and dry from the dancing and the drinks, he forced himself to focus on the man – on the way the passing streetlamps lit up all the tiny cracks and creases in his face, on how he was pretending to be oh-so-interested in the bottom edge of his dirty, bug-splattered window.

Shane just wanted to unbuckle, move over and push Ricky against the corner of the cab, take his sweet, sweet time unbuttoning his shirt until he was sweating, begging for—

The cab screeched to a halt in front of Shane’s place, catching him in the overprotective tug of his seatbelt. He clicked himself free and hurriedly began to thumb through a pile of crinkled bills, handing a stack through the wire cage to the driver, before climbing out of the car.

From the curb, he waved the cab away as Ricky nestled up to him, resting against his shoulder. They stood like that, tired, leaning against each other, until the car turned into another street, disappearing in a cloud of exhaust fumes and low, distant noise.

Shane wrapped an arm over Ricky’s shoulders, walking him to the front door. “Hope we weren’t too suspicious,” he muttered.

“The most suspicious thing was _you,_ carrying that big dumb coat,” Ricky replied, playfully jutting his elbow into Shane’s side. “Why were you wearing that damn thing? It’s summer.”

“It’s _comfortable_ ,” Shane whined. In the dark, still buzzing from the bourbon, he fumbled for a little longer than he’d like to admit, searching through his coat pockets to find his keys. It didn’t help that, all the while, Ricky was pressing a quiet line of kisses up and down his neck.

Once Shane finally fished them out, clicking the right one into the lock, he felt around on the wall, eventually flicking a light on as the two of them spilled into his living room. He closed the door behind him by pushing his back against it, gesturing to the room around him.

“My humble abode,” he announced.

It _was_ humble – the cosy space taken up by a mess of mismatched plush chairs and a big lounge, decorated in old Persian rugs, overflowing bookcases and a few potted plants which simply refused to die. Ricky smiled at his surroundings, stretching up in his wingtips to whisper into Shane’s ear.

“Reminds me of you.”

“I’ll pretend that was a compliment,” Shane replied, bringing his hand to the back of Ricky’s head, gently curling his fingers through his hair. “Want anything to drink?”

Ricky grinned. “Always get your dames this drunk, sheriff?”

“Well, that’s why you came over, wasn’t it?” With one hand resting like a gun against Ricky, holstered into the curve of his hip, Shane led him over to the kitchenette. “What’s your poison?”

“Excellent question.” Ricky looked over the bottles lining the bench, browsing for one that was respectably full, but not unopened. “Tequila?”

Shane stepped behind the counter to pull one shot glass out of a cabinet, finding the other upside-down in the drying rack next to the sink, and poured the drinks. They clinked their glasses together and took the shots.

Shane let a little noise out afterwards, not used to the spice. Then he sighed.

“I suppose I should show you the bedroom.”

◦◦◦

Shane sat on the edge of his bed, studying the curve of Ricky’s back as he faced the wall, unbuttoning his shirt. Once he’d shrugged it off, he turned around and made his way towards Shane, sitting down to straddle him. Shane hooked his fingers behind Ricky’s back, smiling as he pressed his hands against his warm, warm skin.

“You didn’t have to be so bashful,” Shane whispered. “I wouldn’t faint if you undressed before my very eyes.”

“Was just admiring the place,” Ricky huffed, gently jutting his hips against him. Shane let out a little moan, his legs pushing back into the friction, before glancing over to the wall which had apparently been so interesting.

It held his corkboard, currently covered in newspaper snippets, blurry crime scene photos and sections from maps of the local area. The scraps were pinned in place with silver pins, tangled together in a few short pieces of overlapping, slightly unravelled red string.

“Well, I am a real detective, after all. I don’t pretend, unlike _some_ people,” Shane said, punctuating the remark with a sharp prod to the small of Ricky’s back.

“Oh, I don’t pretend,” Ricky hummed, pressing his mouth to Shane’s neck. The move was met with the beginnings of a pleased sigh, before Shane cut himself off.

“Go on, then,” he said, pulling back.

Ricky whined in protest, looking back at Shane, annoyed.

“What?”

“You said you’d make a better detective than me.”

“I didn’t _say_ —” Ricky cut himself off with a groan, impatiently rocking against Shane’s hips.

“You did. _‘I think I could beat you_ ,’” Shane mimicked, pushing his voice to a higher pitch, barely hiding the grin which began to grow over his face. He pushed Ricky back, staring into his deep, moonless eyes. “Well – Mr. Detective. Let me know. What do you make of me?”

Ricky shook his head before lazily propping it against his own shoulder, smiling softly.

“You’re all alone.”

That brought an eyebrow up.

“...Excuse me?”

Ricky shifted on his lap, before speaking in an unfamiliar, strangely sober voice – his cadence somehow suggesting a hint of rehearsal.

“Your clothes are strewn all over the room,” he explained, flicking a hand to the edge of the bed. “No one to clean up after you, to fold them for you.” He reached behind himself, grabbing one of Shane’s hands and held it up to his face, thumb running over the base of his ring finger. “Unmarried. No tan line suggesting that you’re hiding a ring from me.”

Shane shrugged. “So?”

“Your bedroom smells like smoke and aftershave. Nothing floral – no women’s perfume, and there’s no high heel marks scuffing the entrance. You haven’t had a dame over in _years_ ,” Ricky sang out, reaching up to squeeze Shane’s shoulders through his shirt.

“ _One_ year,” he muttered. “At most.”

“But at the same time, you didn’t come to the bar for me,” Ricky said, eyes flickering all over Shane’s face. “You’re messy in private, but a gentleman in practice. Would’ve cleaned up for a guest.” He watched him carefully as he spoke, like he was testing the waters, needed to make sure he got the measurements right before he jumped.

Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he gestured to the wall.

“Maybe you went ‘cause you fancied a distraction. Just wanted to forget something.” Ricky looked over at the corkboard, eyeing the smudged lettering of the dog-eared newspaper clippings. “Something in one of your recent cases. Maybe there’s a disturbing detail that you can’t keep your mind off of.”

Shane growled at that, pushing Ricky into the middle of the bed, rewarded with a quiet gasp. He pushed his mouth against his ear, so close that Ricky shivered at the brush of beard against skin.

“Watch it, Sherlock,” he breathed. “Just ‘cause it’s been a while doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you.”

Ricky let out a soft moan, growing louder as Shane pressed against his neck, kissing and biting him. They stayed like that for a while, Ricky huffing and whining as Shane used his weight to push him into the unmade bed, his naked back rubbing raw against the sheets.

Shane slid one hand under Ricky’s head, tugging at patches of his hair. The motion spilled out sparks of pleasure and pain, deliciously burning across Ricky’s scalp until he was just about ready to scream.

“Baby, get on with it,” Ricky begged, bucking his hips into Shane’s. The sensation of Ricky’s hard-on, rough through layers of stiff, ironed pants and underwear, made Shane shudder. He lifted his head to kiss Ricky on the mouth – quick, sweet – before shuffling down, leaning over Ricky’s crotch.

Shane pressed his elbows against Ricky’s thighs as he worked, drunkenly pulling Ricky’s belt out of the buckle before throwing the whole thing off the side of the bed. He glanced at Ricky’s hands, resting by his sides, twitching, just itching to play with himself. It made him grin.

“Only I get to touch you,” Shane murmured, sliding his hands up to clutch Ricky’s wrists, clamping down on them, pushing them into the mattress.

Ricky writhed under his weight, gasping for a breath, for a hand, a harder touch. Glistening in the low light of bedside table lamps, Shane stopped, admiring the sweat glistening over his Ricky’s skin.

“You’re too hasty, anyway,” he said, smirking, fingers running over Ricky’s arms.

“But...” Ricky whimpered, grinding against Shane again, jutting out his bottom lip. Shane just raised an eyebrow.

“You gonna let me drive, or what?”

His voice was gruff, unexpectedly seductive. Ricky bit down on the corner of his lip, sweat welling up in fine droplets at his hairline, before nodding. Shifting over the messy, ruffled bedsheets, he folded both arms behind his head, all the while gazing at Shane with those big, black-diamond eyes.

Shane unbuttoned and unzipped Ricky’s fly, pulling his pants down to mid-thigh. His dick, now fully hard, sprang up, dripping with pre-come. Shane let out a soft laugh, lazily wrapping his steady fingers around the base. Ricky instantly folded into the touch, pushing against Shane’s frustratingly loose grip.

Shane watched as he did so, drinking him in: his half-closed eyes; the way his breath gently rose and fell with his entire body; the curves and corners that made up his muscly arms.

He sat up, legs on either side of Ricky’s heaving body, leaning his head down to get a better look at Ricky’s left shoulder. A scar, shaped like a moon crescent, stained his skin in a faded raspberry red. Shane paused before he brought his mouth down to it, kissing it, lapping out his tongue to lick along the line.

“What happened to you, my little lovebird?” he whispered, running a finger along the slightly raised skin. “Someone else punish you first?”

“Something like that,” Ricky murmured. His pupils swivelled to stare up at Shane, obscured through a mess of dark eyelashes. The innocent, utterly alluring sent a rush through Shane, thoughts of _now, before it’s too late,_ as he rushed to get himself unbuckled, unbuttoned, unzipped.

He pulled his suspenders off his shoulders, leaving his belt hanging open over his stomach as he started to pointedly palm himself through his underwear, languidly dragging his long fingers across the increasingly damp fabric. He watched, a secretly pleased smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as Ricky struggled to show restraint, hands still pinned behind his head.

“You’re _so_ pretty, Ricky,” Shane hummed, still touching himself. “You know that, don’t you?”

Ricky moaned, carrying the sound out, loud and long.

“But you’re also dirty. Yeah,” Shane purred, digging his hands down on either side of Ricky’s head, twisting the pillows in his fingers. “You’re downright filthy.”

“I am,” Ricky groaned.

“Tell me.” Shane rocked against his thighs, rough fabric of his pants rubbing against Ricky, catching in the fine hairs on his skin. “Go on, tell me.”

“I’m no good.”

“Yeah?”

“No good, no, no good!” Ricky suddenly cried out, thrusting forward, voice aching, dripping with want. “You know that, everybody knows that. I’m _utterly_ rotten.”

“That’s okay, baby,” Shane said, running a hand down the side of Ricky’s face, a little surprised at how easily the action came to him. “We both are.” A smile cracked his face open like old wood, flashing a few white teeth. “Only you’re a little more rotten.”

With that, Shane pulled out his own cock, pressing his hips against Ricky. One hand still trickling against the side of Ricky’s face, fingers fluttering over the soft shell of his ear, the prickles of stubble covering his jaw, he wrapped his other hand around the both of them, lightly squeezing the hard flesh. He slowly worked his hand up and down their shared length, concentrating hard through the haze of being so drunk and drowsy and turned on that his vision practically flashed white before him.

They bucked and reared together, Shane swearing and groaning under his breath as Ricky squealed and yelped at every movement, hands still painfully pinned away from his growing erection. Finally, running his hand against the both of them, Shane shuddered, spilling himself over Ricky’s bare stomach. Ricky came a moment later, dripping the same hot, white mess over himself.

Shane flopped forward, unthinking, drunkenly dropping all his weight down, digging his chin into Ricky’s scarred shoulder. He laid like that for a few seconds, some sane part at the back of his mind still incredulous that this had started with him losing his _lighter_ , of all things – had led to this breathless night, had led to this _man_.

When he closed his eyes, his could feel Ricky’s jagged breath in the rise and fall of his stomach against Shane’s, in the hot breath that tickled his ear. Shane sighed in response, drowsiness finally taking over, before rolling over, not wanting to crush the guy.

As soon as he was lying on his back, Ricky shifted over, moving so that his head hung over Shane’s. Pressing a few sweet, smoky kisses over his lips and cheeks – some ending up on his eyelids – he wheezed, running one hand across the fabric covering Shane’s stomach.

“Gonna be hard to explain this one to the dry-cleaner,” he mumbled.

Shane looked down, not quite understanding, until he ran his hand over the slightly warm, sticky patch now staining the front of his shirt.

“Aw... _Fuck_.”


	3. Chapter 3

Shane turned in his sheets, his skin warm and slightly slick with a layer of sweat. He smiled, feeling the nearby blinds draw lines of sunlight over his face.

There was something especially pleasant in his bones this morning, the kind of satisfied tiredness that only came with dancing all night. Unfinished thoughts buzzed through his head – thoughts he didn’t spend much energy reconnecting, like _bourbon and coke,_ and _swing,_ and _Mr. Cab Driver_.

Something in him had the idea that today was a weekend, but wasn’t too fussed if it wasn’t.

He sighed, sinking his head into the pillow, finally opening one eye. As the blurred image focused, initially marred with sleep and the remnants of a hangover, he was greeted with the sight of a man, softly snoozing, head folded into one tan, well-defined arm.

_A man._

Shane sat up, pulling his blanket up with him. He was suddenly aware of his clothes, tangled up in sleep, stuck to him with sweat. His shirt was still fully buttoned up, but one of his suspenders was tangled in the buckle of his open belt.

The night before flooded back to him, pulsing blood-hot in his head.

He brought his hand up to his forehead, convinced that he had come down with a fever. That, or his mind had decided to clock in all his hours of deep, philosophical thought lost to drinking, all at once. It was spinning a million miles a minute, and he didn’t exert the effort to pull any single idea from the machine, give anything the satisfaction of something beyond a stunned stare.

Stumbling out of his bed, he somehow made his way to the bathroom, locking the door behind him, and began to strip out of his soiled – wow, _badly_ soiled – clothes. Before he reached to blast the cold water, he paused, taking a moment to stare at his naked torso – _still in one piece, I guess_ – in the streaky, scratched mirror, eyes eventually trailing up to his face.

Etched under his unkempt beard, he could’ve sworn he saw something that looked like a smile.

◦◦◦

Out of the shower, with cool droplets of water clinging to his skin, Shane snuck back into the bedroom, tip-toeing around the man still asleep in his bed. With one hand (barely) covering his dick, he used the other to quietly open his closet doors, searching for a towel. After a minute, he found one in all the mess, wrapping it around his waist.

“No need to be so bashful.”

He spun around at the unexpected voice, nearly dropping the damn thing.

“Oh! Hey there!” Shane said – mostly because nothing else, witty or otherwise, came to mind.

His head was also hyper-focused on the image of Ricky – _that’s what he said his name was, wasn’t it?_ –sitting up in his bed. He couldn’t help staring, eyes glued to that deliciously messy hair, now sticking up with sweat. It didn’t help that Shane’s blinds spilled golden lines of late-morning light across his body, bringing (a frankly _unfair)_ emphasis to the muscles in his chest.

Ricky tilted his head to one side, bringing Shane’s focus back to his face.

“You sleep okay?” he asked, quirking one eyebrow up – _and yep, I remember those eyes_.

“M-hm,” Shane replied, a smile slowly working to relax the bottom half of his face. “You?”

_“Pretty_ good,” Ricky said, voice irritatingly adorable, hinting at a held-back laugh. Then, slowly, deliberately, as his eyes trailed over Shane’s bare body; “You know, you’re a pretty good dancer.”

Shane adjusted the towel over his hips, letting out something like a hum.

“Well...uh, for an amateur...” Shane coughed, hand reaching to the back of his neck. He was sure that it had turned ruby-red. “You’re a pretty good detective.”

“Told you so,” Ricky sang, that grin still stuck over his damned face.

Shane longed to jump back into his bed there and then, to push and pull, kiss, bite and lick every inch of flawless flesh on the smug bastard until he was writhing in the heat of both of their bodies, until he wasn’t grinning quite so hard anymore.

Instead, Shane pulled the towel off his hips and threw it at Ricky’s head, smiling at the slightly wet _smack_ it made against his face.

“Agh— _Shane!_ What the—!?”

“Bathroom’s on your left!”

◦◦◦

Shane sat on one of the stools at his kitchenette, legs crossed, looking over the morning paper. After urging Ricky into the shower, he’d changed into something relatively casual to grab the mail and put something on for breakfast. With the coffee brewing and bacon sizzling, he’d started to scan through the first few pages of the paper.

“How do I look?”

Shane looked up at the voice, and began to laugh. “Like you’ve raided your mother’s dresser!”

Ricky smiled back, turning to pose in _Shane’s_ robe, showing off how the plush, white fabric hugged his ass. He seemed to ignore the excess white fabric that dragged on the floor, trailing behind him like a train.

“Why, whatever do you mean?” Ricky asked, fluttering his eyelashes like an actress. Shane just shook his head in response, putting the paper down on the bench.

“Just... take a seat,” Shane said, exasperated, pointing to the couch. Ricky complied, scurrying over so the robe fluttered up behind him, before sinking into the plush seat.

Shane met him a few moments later with a plate of bacon and eggs in each hand, before getting up again to bring two strong cups of coffee over.

“I took the liberty of adding sugar to yours. Hope that’s alright,” Shane explained, settling in next to Ricky on the couch, handing him the cup.

“Whoa. Thank you,” Ricky replied, voice disarmingly absent of sarcasm, eyebrows up in slight surprise.

“No problem.”

The two sipped gingerly at their too-hot cups, fiddling with their own fingers, not quite looking at each other. Ricky lightly tugged at a few stray threads poking out of the couch, something on the edge of his mind, a second away from falling over into speech, before being interrupted.

“I’ve never taken a man home before.”

He started up at that, unprepared to respond. Shane’s head had turned to face him, but his eyes were fixed on a window somewhere behind Ricky’s head.

“Um—”

“But you probably knew that, right?” Shane smiled over at him, and Ricky just shrugged.

“A little. Well.” Ricky paused. “Suspected.”

“ _All deductions are just suspicions until confirmed_ ,” Shane quoted, though from what, neither man was sure. “I just figured – well, I had fun. Probably a little more than I care to admit.” Shane picked his cup up from the table, swirled the separating layers of milk and coffee back together, put it back down. “So why stop and regret it, you know? I mean, at this point, I’m already going to hell.”

Ricky laughed at that, curling an arm around Shane’s shoulder. He brought their faces together, planting a soft, messy kiss to his lips.

“Guess I’ll see you there!”

Shane pushed himself back into a corner of the couch, long legs stretching dangerously close to the breakfast laid out on the table before them. He reached out for the edges of Ricky’s open robe, pulling him in for another long, lazy kiss.

Ricky sat on top of him, bare legs brushing against Shane’s pants, shifting to get a better angle at Shane’s mouth. His lips were warm with the taste of overly sweet coffee, and his mouth opened in a slow smile as Shane slid a hand under the bathrobe, running across the curve of Ricky’s bare ass.

“ _Good_ morning,” Ricky murmured. Heat spilled red over Shane’s face as he grabbed the flesh with both hands, surprised at how soft it was, before explaining himself.

“Hey, you were the one advertising.” A pause. “Does this mean you need to borrow some clothes?”

Ricky laughed, sitting up in Shane’s lap, white light glimmering in the edges of his eyes. He automatically wrapped the robe over himself, earning an impatient whine from Shane, who barely stopped himself from reaching out to tug the fabric open again.

“I’d love to, but I’m afraid I left my stilts at the bar.” Ricky slid off of Shane, jumping back onto the couch. “And, not to ruin the moment or anything, but the food smells far too good for me to just let it go cold.”

Shane rolled his eyes, reaching over the table to turn his radio on. Fiddling through news spoken at gunfire pace and overly optimistic commercials, he finally settled on a station playing lukewarm jazz.

They both picked up their plates and sank into the couch, forking through the hot, greasy breakfast. Shane glanced over at Ricky as he ate, admiring just how _good_ he looked in his bathrobe. The fluffy fabric hung over him, sides sliding apart to reveal his lazily crossed legs.

He jumped a little when Ricky put his empty plate on the table, fork clattering against the ceramic.

“Wait, what time is it?” Ricky asked, suddenly searching the walls for a clock.

“Eleven, I think,” Shane said, before peering at his watch. “Eleven fifty-five. Well, I was close. You got someplace to be?”

Ricky swore, starting to stand up. “You could say that. I’ll just be a moment.”

Shane drank his coffee as Ricky walked back to the bedroom. He wondered if he would ever even see the man after today, or if last night was just a one-time offer he’d cashed in on too soon. The thought made him clutch the hot, hot mug, searing the soft pads of his fingers.

Ricky emerged a few minutes later, dressed in his dirty clothes from the day before, an undone tie flung over one shoulder. He’d rolled the sleeves of his dress-shirt up to his elbows, and was fiddling with the edge of one pant leg, hopping back into the living room.

“Need some help there, bud?” Shane offered.

Ricky groaned, stamping one wing-tip down into the carpet, leaving a faintly wet footprint behind. “I threw all my clothes onto the bathroom floor, and now everything’s soaked.”

Shane laughed, getting up and walking over to him. Ricky’s annoyed expression melted to a knowing smile.

“Won’t you be a darling and help me look a little less like a mess?”

“You could start by doing your shirt properly,” Shane said, pulling Ricky by his collar, reaching out to undo the crooked buttons. As he pulled the edge of Ricky’s shirt out, doing it up again, he saw a flash of that scar on his left shoulder and frowned.

“Why do they make them with so many buttons?” Ricky mumbled, fidgeting under Shane’s grip.

“I don’t know, maybe they have a button quota or something—would you just _hold still?”_

Once he finished with the shirt, Shane tied his tie for him, fastening it up to tuck under his collar. Running his hands over the fabric to brush away stray pieces of lint, Shane took a step back, admiring his work.

“Looks good enough to take home,” he grinned. “Maybe hang it over the fire.”

“All in good time,” Ricky replied, walking over to one of the windows, looking over his reflection, faint against the daylight. He gave a sly nod, rolling his wrinkled sleeves back up, before continuing. “Got anything on today?”

“Um...” Shane elected to push his hands into his pockets, hoping that’d pass as ambivalence. “I—I mean, I think I’m—”

“Excellent.” Ricky reached over, pulling Shane’s left arm over to himself, thumb digging into his palm. He grabbed a ball-point pen out of his back pocket and, with his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, started to write across Shane’s forearm, spilling blue, spidery letters over his skin. Once he was done, he clicked the pen back on the bone of Shane’s wrist, before twisting his arm back the other way, glancing at the face of his watch.

“Gotta run, honey,” he said, fingers still loosely wrapped around Shane’s wrist. “But I’ll be right _here_ ,” he poked Shane’s arm, “from ten tonight.” He brought Shane’s wrist up to his mouth, giving it a gentle kiss. “Hope to see you there?”

Shane stammered, eventually spluttering something out. “Yeah, of course. I mean, sure.”

Ricky grinned, holding Shane’s hand up to his cheek for just a moment longer.


	4. Chapter 4

Ambling around in the parking lot, lost in the hot darkness which fell over him, Shane loosened and tightened his tie for the fourth time in two minutes.

Not that he was the type of man to pay attention to these things – at least, not outside the office. He just never usually had a chance to carry his grandfather’s pocket watch around with him, and he liked the weight of it, heavy, solid in his palm. He glanced down at the clock face again, sinking a row of painfully minty teeth into his bottom lip, as the hands ticked over to three minutes past ten.

Alright, to be completely fair, it might have helped that the metal – cool against his skin, even in the dry, summer air – was somewhat distracting him from the sweat that already coated his palms.

With no place to sit and calm the slight, unmistakable tremble which had struck his legs, he had taken to walking up and down the same patch of asphalt in what was ultimately a pathetic attempt to get a breeze circulating under his coat. He’d dressed in his finest – or at least, his cleanest – suit.

At the time, stretching and slouching in an effort to fit his long form into the bathroom mirror, he thought the dark pinstripe jacket and pants, tastefully offset by a smoke-grey tie, looked pretty damn dashing. It had only just occurred to him that Ricky had written on his arm in pen, and the words would, with a lick of sweat and bad luck, stain the sleeve of his shirt in a bright blue bruise. Why hadn’t he washed it off before he’d called the cab?

It’s not like he would have forgotten what Ricky had written – not in a million years. It burned like a brand across his brain: _4672 EAST AVENUE. PARKING LOT,_ and then, in smaller letters underneath, _see ya there, sasquatch x._

The words had brought him to the back of a high-class hotel, where he’d spent the time aimlessly strolling through empty parking spaces, undoing and redoing his tie. Once he was sure the height and angle was basically beyond improvement, he’d walked up to the back of the hotel, leaning against the wall. The adjacent windows were obscured by lace curtains, blurring everything inside into a pearly light. One was propped up an inch or two, spilling the clattering of dishes and smell of hot food outside.

Not for the first time, Shane wished for a cigarette.

He hadn’t even brought the box with him. With nothing to do all day, he had half-heartedly planned to go out and buy another lighter, maybe get some groceries, go to the dry-cleaners, but in the end, he couldn’t even bring himself to leave the house.

Instead, lighting his smokes over the gas stove, he’d spent the day going over the recent homicide case he’d been assigned – a series of axe murders, exclusively targeting men aged between 25-30 years old. Reading and re-reading the details, he scavenged and searched for any links or leads he might’ve missed – anything to connect the locations of the murders, the time of death, hell, even the brands of clothes the victims wore – coming up with nothing but a headache.

Shane pulled his pocket watch out again, shielding his eyes from the headlights of a car that had just started to pull in. Six past ten. He tapped his foot on the pavement, impatient.

The only thing stopping him from suspecting the whole thing was an elaborate set-up to charge him with drinking, perversion, being an awful, awful cop – _you know, the usual_ – was the image of Ricky sprawled out over the bed, arms pinned behind his head. Even if he was about to be arrested by him, he figured he needed to see the guy one more time before he died – if not to spend another night with him, then at least to confirm that he existed, that the time spent with him had been real.

The Cadillac crawled to a stop in front of him. He stood up a little straighter as a man, face hidden under the shadows of a fedora, hopped out of the passenger’s seat. Closing the door and stepping in front of the car, he waved the driver away with one hand, the other pressing a cane against the ground. As the car began to back out, he turned to face Shane, flashing him that winning grin.

“Evening, baby! Did ya miss me?” Ricky cried out, striding towards him.

Shane hadn’t recognised him at first. Under the hat, his laundry-white collar was store-bought-stiff, crawling halfway up his neck. He was wrapped up in a black waistcoat and suit jacket, with a silver chain hanging from his collar and tailcoats that fluttered behind him.

“Evening—whoa there!” Shane said, unprepared as Ricky hooked their arms together. He leaned up to meet Shane’s eyes, aiming a wet kiss at his cheek, though most of it ended up on his chin.

“You hungry, darling?” There was an unfocused, glossy edge to Ricky’s eyes, a dash of abandon in his laugh. “Because I am _starving.”_

“Sure am.” Shane shifted from one foot to another. “You had something to drink?”

“Maybe a cou— uh, a glass or two.” Ricky smiled up at him, drawing swirling patterns over Shane’s sleeve, digging into his elbow. “You look thirsty, though. Did I leave you high and dry?”

Shane glanced over one shoulder, scanning the empty parking lot, before giving Ricky a kiss, pulling back a moment later – barely enough time to taste the gin that still stuck to his lips.

Ricky smirked at that, pressing his body against Shane’s, before tugging on his arm.

“No need to be so cautious, baby.” He walked him alongside the expanse of windows, stopping at the backdoor. “I know the owner. And trust me,” he laughed, “she’d be a fool not to know me.”

With that, he brought his cane down on the door frame twice, paused, and hit it again. In the fluorescent glow spilling from the windows, Shane could make out a distinct notch in the shape of a hollow circle, etched into the wood.

After a few seconds of dishes clacking together, footsteps running against linoleum, and what sounded like a sink being turned off, a woman opened the door. Her cheeks were covered in red splotches, hot with sweat, like she’d just been running. Behind her, kitchen staff busied themselves with chopping, boiling and frying all kinds of dishes in all kinds of manners. It all mixed together to form a confusingly delicious smell, sharply bringing Shane’s attention to the fact that the last thing he’d had was a cup of cheap, homemade coffee.

Tucking a strand of closely-cropped black hair under her chef’s hat, the woman looked over at Ricky, nodding at him almost imperceptibly, before glancing over at Shane.

“Evening, gentlemen. Glad you could make it.” She turned back to Ricky, quirking an unimpressed eyebrow up at him. “I’d like to _personally_ thank you for the short notice.”

“It’s hot out here, Jen,” Ricky replied, “and it’s only gonna get hotter.” Shane couldn’t tell whether his annoyed expression was a joke or not. “You gonna leave us to sweat our nuts off, or what?”

“Quite the _tall_ order,” she continued, ignoring him, “to get a table at ol’ Aunt Jen’s on such a beautiful Sunday evening.”

Ricky rolled his eyes, looking over at Shane. “What a pest,” he muttered. He clicked his cane on the ground again, pointedly clearing his throat against one of his sparkling cufflinks.

“But I suppose that’s alright,” Jen said, bringing a hand up to her chin, as if deep in thought. “Perhaps you’ve just recently taken a liking to such tall things, huh, Goldsworth?”

Before either of the men could respond, a smile – crooked and bright – broke across Jen’s face. She took a few steps back, holding the door open with a shoulder. Ricky shook his head, incredulous, before leading Shane in.

◦◦◦

Jen personally led them through the kitchen, navigating around the boiling, bubbling pots and chefs frying food, fire jumping out of their pans.

As soon as they walked through, the chefs bowed their heads down, appearing to concentrate a little too hard on chopping vegetables or garnishing dishes. None of the activity stopped or even slowed, but it was certainly moved, turned away so as to not acknowledge or disturb the kitchen’s highly anticipated guests.

Walking past the velvety curtains used by waiters and waitresses to access the main floor, Jen brought them to a corner of the kitchen, showing them to a set of white, silk curtains. She took Ricky’s hat and waved them away as Ricky took the lead, one arm still curled over Shane’s.

Pushing past the fabric, Shane stepped into a world bathed in wine-red light, as big as a ballroom, covered in grand tables swimming with men and women, music and laughter drowning the many conversations out a happy mess of noise.

“This way,” Ricky breathed, voice soft and sharp against his ear, leading him to one of the tables for two tucked away in the back, the clack of his cane reduced to a dull _thump, thump, thump_ against the carpet.

Shane slid across the red, leather couch, tucking his legs under the huge, circular table, shuffling over. Ricky came in after him, dropping his cane on the ground, before settling into his seat.

“Wow,” Shane whispered.

“What d’ya make of the joint?” Ricky asked, not even looking at the waitress who hurriedly handed him a menu. He glanced down, flicking to a particular page before holding it open with an elbow, staring back up at Shane. “I could’ve picked someplace else. I just knew this place would be the most... accommodating. ‘Specially since I only rang them this morning.”

Shane looked up, mouth falling the slightest bit open. The ceiling seemed three storeys high, paved in rose-red tiles, lined in golden details. Crystal chandeliers, each holding what seemed like a thousand tall, white candles, spilled warm light across the room, shining in the arched mirrors that ran over every wall. Though every other table was bustling with people, drunk on the late hour, as waitstaff ran in and out among them, replacing empty dishes with new courses, Shane and Ricky appeared to be nestled in a quiet spot, their table separated from everyone else.

“It’s...”

“I can find somewhere else.” Ricky’s right hand started to slide down the couch, reaching for his cane. “I can—”

Shane pressed a hand over his knuckles, giving them a slight squeeze.

“Ricky.” Shane let a grin, wide with awe, grow across his face. “It’s fine. I mean— fuck, this place is stunning.”

“Ah.” Ricky sat back up, tangling his fingers together. He seemed to be resisting the urge to run them through his hair – currently styled in a wet, inky black, slicked to the side with gel. “Glad you think so.”

Shane moved over until their arms were touching, leaning over Ricky’s shoulder to look over the menu.

“What do ya fancy?” Ricky asked him, voice strangely unsteady. He ran a hand over the menu before tapping his fingers over the red table cloth, the gold rings covering his fingers clinking over each other.

“Well, you calming down would make for a great entrée.”

Ricky’s eyes widened for a moment, whites drowning under the weight of his big, black irises, before he let out a wheeze, shaking his head.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, wiping one eye. “I’m just... probably haven’t had enough to drink,” he mumbled.

“I think your problem might just be the opposite, lovebird,” Shane said, reaching a hand out to brush across his cheek. Ricky fell into the touch, sighing as Shane’s fingers ran across his skin, smooth from the recent shave.

“You look really good, Shane. Did I tell you that yet?” Ricky pushed his palms against the couch, back straight as he spoke. “I’m sorry, my mind is such a mess today. You look damn good in a suit.”

Shane smiled, giving a little shrug.

“I tried, I really did.” He started to help himself to the complimentary water, filling a glass up. “But you... I mean, you really look amazing.”

“You think so?” Ricky pressed an elbow into the table, leaning his face against his palm. “Good enough to take home?”

Shane winked, raising his glass.

“All in good time,” he replied, pleased that he had managed to quote Ricky back to himself. He took a sip of the icy water, ending with an overdramatic sigh. “Now, are you gonna order something for me, or am I gonna have to embarrass the both of us and attempt to pronounce something French?”

◦◦◦

Ricky ended up ordering roast lamb and mulled wine for the both of them. After a waitress brought their drinks over, they clinked their glass mugs together, sinking back into the sofa to take an appreciative sip of their warm drinks.

“Honestly? Didn’t think you could beat bourbon and coke,” Shane said. He glanced over the flicker of the candles covering the table, the way they set the tablecloth’s golden embroidery alight.

“And?”

Shane lifted his head, looking Ricky straight in the eye.

“And _of course_ you did.”

Ricky giggled – _and isn’t that a sight?_

“I’m a man of many talents,” Ricky explained. He might’ve been trying to go for mysterious, one hand fluttering over his face, but it was so drunkenly executed that he just ended up groping his chin.

“I guess that includes intimidating kitchen staff?” Shane said, taking another drink.

“Like I said,” Ricky muttered, shaking his head, something like a smile growing over his face. “Jen’s a friend. Sometimes regrettably so.”

“Ah,” Shane sighed, swirling his wine, “if only I had friends who made fun of my newfound affinity for tall, handsome men.”

Ricky’s mouth fell open in a small, shocked “O”. He splayed a hand across his chest, playing the part of horribly offended.

“How dare you, Shane?”

“Well, what can I say—”

“You think you’re handsome?”

Shane spluttered at that, putting his drink back on the table.

“Are you serious? This, coming from the man who just told me that I look good – no, _damn_ good – in a suit!”

“Huh,” Ricky said, self-consciously scratching the back of his neck. “Wait, did I say all that out loud?” He grinned as he stared up in the ceiling, as if struggling to think. “I don’t remember. Maybe you’re just imagining things.”

Shane playfully punched him in the shoulder. “You’re such a liar, Ricky. And a bad one, at that.”

Ricky raised an eyebrow, a secretive smile plastered over his face.

“Is that so?” he murmured.

The conversation lulled as a waiter served them their plates of lamb, garnished in rosemary, Ricky staring at Shane all the while. Once the waiter left, Ricky shifted, his eyes catching the sharp shapes of light falling from the crystal chandeliers.

“So you figure you got me all worked out?” Ricky asked. Shane shook his head, an exasperated smile working its way across his face.

“Nope, no, nuh-uh. That’s not what I said.”

“It sounded like that’s what you meant, officer.”

Shane raised his eyebrows, a little affronted by the nickname.

“It wasn’t, Goldsworth.”

Ricky cleared his throat, fiddling with his cufflinks.

“Good,” he growled, lowering his eyebrows. “’Cause you should know – I’m full of surprises.” On the last word, he flicked a switchblade out from his right sleeve, bending the tip of the blade back until it glinted silver.

“...Wow,” Shane said, a flush falling across his face, briefly lost for words. “Careful, uh, where you point that thing.”

Ricky grinned, pleased at the reaction.

“I mean it, though,” he continued, smile still crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Well, not the stabbing – unless you’re into that kind of thing.” Tucking the switchblade back into the cuff of his jacket, Ricky stabbed a piece of the lamb on his plate with a fork. “But, you know – we’re in a special situation, you and I,” he explained, popping it in his mouth.

Shane raised an eyebrow, beginning to eat as well.

“Yeah, I know. You should probably let me know when you have hidden weapons on your person, so I don’t, you know, accidentally slice one of our dicks off. It could really ruin the moment,” he said, speaking through a mouthful of lamb.

Ricky’s eyes darted all over Shane’s face, looking for something, dropping back down when he couldn’t find it. Shane frowned, putting his knife and fork on his plate.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Ricky just shrugged. “Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not that. It’s more that... I don’t trust cops.”

The corner of Shane’s mouth quirked up. “I am a cop.”

“Yeah,” Ricky chuckled. “That’s the crazy part.”

“Do I laugh now, or do I wait ‘til it gets funny?” When Ricky didn’t reply, Shane continued. “Alright, I get it. This whole thing is weird and scary for you. It is for me, too.”

Ricky looked up through his eyelashes. “Yeah?”

“Um, yeah! All day, I’ve just been doing things in circles. Didn’t even go out to get a new lighter,” he grumbled, which made Ricky smile. “You’re right. We are in a special situation. Like two spiders caught in each other’s webs. Can I just say something?”

“Sure.”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all day. It’s—I barely know you, Ricky,” Shane rambled, gripping his fork. He stared at the centre of his plate for a moment, biting the edge of his lip, before looking up again. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me. But the thought of you has driven me halfway to crazy-town.”

Ricky reached across the table, patting Shane’s hand.

“You’re such a doll, Shane. I’ve been thinking about you, too,” he said. “Been looking forward to this for the whole day.” Then he frowned, staring past Shane’s head, looking into the mirror behind their booth. “Whenever I manage to nab a willing guy – well, it’s usually a one-time deal, you know? After the night, they go back to their...” Ricky’s eyes flicked back down at the table. He shook his head, waving the words away. “Anyway, I was really hoping that you’d... stick around. At least for a little longer.”

“I’d be honoured to.” Shane tried to wink, but couldn’t quite pull it off. The wine had really warmed him up. “Besides, you’re just too much fun to pass up.”

Ricky giggled, squirming a little in his seat as his face began to burn red. Shane just smiled at him, sighing, before speaking again.

“You know, you can be such an idiot sometimes,” he murmured.

Ricky tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at Shane, like he was a particularly tricky Sunday crossword.

“But you were right about one thing.”

“Really?” Ricky replied, raising an eyebrow as Shane slunk towards him, sliding his weight across the booth. He sat up a little straighter, the sounds of the swing band at the front drowning behind his heart, beating in his ears, prickling up at the sounds of suit fabric as he shifted. “And what’s that?”

Shane reached towards Ricky’s neck to tangle his fingers in the knot of his tie. He leaned in until their eyes were level and smirked, smoke and wine and rosemary on his breath.

“I _will_ be seeing you in hell,” he whispered. His voice held steady, low, aimed as carefully as a gun. “In fact— I can’t wait.”

Ricky brought his hands up, cupping the sides of Shane’s face, stupid, clattering rings catching in his beard, callused fingers brushing against his cheeks, and kissed him – tongue sliding slow, at first, but soon prodding deeper, desperate for more.

Shane pushed back into him, a shiver of pleasure running down his spine at the smooth way his hand glided over Ricky’s suit jacket, the way he pricked his fingers on the short hairs at the base of his skull. The night swirled happy and blurry and drunk over him, blanketed in fire and fine spices. Even with the heat of a million candles and hot dishes and cigarettes mixing in his head, he could make out the smell of gunpowder stuck to Ricky’s clothes, could taste a lick of blood at the edge of his lips.

Shane drew back an inch, face red as he exhaled, hurrying to run a hand over his mouth to stop himself from drooling. Pulling back, he realised that the tip of his index finger was coated in red.

_Weird – must be from the lamb._

A downright devilish grin stained Ricky’s face, shadows from the chandeliers dying his eyes black.

“Let’s get out of here, baby,” Ricky muttered, voice wet with impatience, breath brushing against Shane’s ear.

_What else could it be?_


	5. Chapter 5

Shane clutched Ricky’s hand as the two of them stumbled through a labyrinth of sidewalks, all the paths crossing over, bleeding together to form claustrophobic, unending alleyways. Across the stretches of the city’s pockmarked, concrete skin, Shane ran to the broken-record rhythm of Ricky’s cane clacking against the pavement. He pressed himself into Ricky’s side as they dashed around a corner, narrowly avoiding hitting his shoulder against one of the crumbling buildings.

Streetlamps poured lukewarm light over them as they emerged onto a lonely street, stopping to catch their breath. A storm of flies and moths gathered at the base of some of the burning bulbs, bodies captured by the hot, dull glow. Shane smiled up at them, his drunken stare sending pools of light swirling over his eyes.

“Where’re we goin’?” he slurred, right hand still stuck to Ricky’s, palm damp with their sweat.

“I... got a... place,” Ricky huffed, leaning against his cane. He tilted his head back to drink a deeper breath, body painted ink-black against the lights, before glancing down either side of the street.

“You think we’re being followed?”

Shane put a hand up against the light, trying to focus on his expression. Ricky shrugged, letting go of his hand.

“Doubt it – honestly, honey...” he murmured. Shane could’ve sworn he heard a faint smirk colouring his words. All at once, he hooked his arm around Shane’s hip, leaning in, whispering. “If someone wants to stop us... I _dare_ them to get through me.” He clicked his cane on the pavement, letting out a chuckle, before pressing his lips against Shane’s.

They held the kiss, unrushed, as Shane brought a hand up to the back of Ricky’s neck. The way Ricky flicked his tongue against his lips, pushing into his mouth – passionate, calculated, practiced, improvised, everything – it sparked something in Shane, sending patches of goosebumps down his back.

He shivered in the summer air, pressing his whole body back, worried he’d never get the message across – not unless he had neon lights reading _more, more, more!_ strapped to his chest, worried that he was too drunk to keep up, that he wasn’t as good at—

Shane’s hand froze, still holding a fistful of Ricky’s hair.

“Baby-doll?” Ricky let go of Shane, taking a step back, leaving a cold gap between them. “What’s wrong? Shit, is this too much for you? We don’t have to—”

“Ricky...” Shane gulped, bringing a hand up to his mouth.

“What? What, what, fuck, _what is it_?”

“...Your hat!”

Ricky blinked.

“My...?”

“You left it at the restaurant.”

Ricky shook his head, bringing a hand to his forehead.

“My fucking fedora?” he wheezed, leaning back into Shane, pressing his face against the wrinkled fabric of his suit jacket. “You fucking scared me, asshole! I thought something was actually wrong!” he said, voice muffled. “Who cares about my stupid hat?”

“I feel guilty,” Shane whined, bringing a hand back up to cup the side of Ricky’s head. “You left it because of _me_.”

“I only wore that shit to impress you. Honestly, I hate the damn thing.” Ricky pulled back, staring up at Shane, dark eyes glimmering. “Did it work?”

Shane traced a finger over the curve of Ricky’s ear, shying away, tucking his chin into the nook of his shoulder to stare at the ground.

“I mean...”

“Were you impressed?”

“Mm... Alright, yeah, okay? I was.” Shane smiled, teeth digging into his bottom lip. Though he couldn’t quite make it out in the dark, Ricky smiled right back as he held both of of Shane’s hands in his, softly swaying them back and forth. “I really was.”

“Then why the fuck are we still standing here?”

◦◦◦

Arms hooked into Shane’s, Ricky lead the two of them through the entrance of a hotel. They made their way past the excessively beige lobby, devoid of any life other than a woman attending the desk (who may have nodded to Ricky as he came in, or may have just been falling asleep).

At the elevator doors, Ricky bumped the button to go up with his hip, before leaning back against Shane. The doors opened immediately, revealing an old man leaning against one of the walls, dressed in the same drab, oatmeal colour as the rest of the place.

Shane jumped away from Ricky, guilty as a teenager, as he glanced at them, eyes half-closed.

“Evening, sirs,” the man mumbled, seeming not to notice. “Which floor can I do ya for?”

“Ru-dolf,” Ricky replied, careful to enunciate each syllable, straining through an annoyed frown. The man started at the voice, suddenly standing straight.

“Oh, sir! I didn’t realise—!”

“You can scram,” Ricky said, tilting his head to the side. “I know how to push a couple buttons.” He punctuated the last word with a sharp click of his cane against the lobby tile, making the man rush to step out.

Ricky pulled Shane in after himself, jutting his finger into one of the buttons. Once the doors had closed around them, Shane let out a little laugh.

Ricky looked up at him, eyes exaggerated into a show of annoyance.

“You certainly have a way with words,” Shane said, grinning.

“It’s my specialty.” He hooked his cane into the bar by his side. “Besides,” he purred, fiddling with his tie until it came loose, knot hanging two inches below his collar, “I wanna be alone with you.”

Ricky reached out to run his hands over Shane’s hips, going on his tip-toes to press a quiet kiss to Shane’s nose.

Shane smiled, surprised at how innocent the action was. Ricky moved slowly, taking a careful step forward to push Shane, followed by another, until Shane’s back was pressed against one of the wood-panelled walls. His hands brushed over the lapels of Shane’s suit, smooth and deliberate, like he was dusting off an antique.

With Ricky not daring to press too hard, Shane jutted his chest out into the touch, frustrated with the layers of clothes that separated them – all the knots and buttons and zips that were just getting in the way, just going to waste their time.

Ricky kept up the gentleman act, hands moving quick and delicate, taking his time, and it was driving Shane crazy. He leaned down, desperate for another kiss, for Ricky’s lips, still sweet and sticky with wine.

“I want you so bad,” Ricky whispered, punctuating the sentence with a light kiss up against the side of Shane’s neck. “But more than that – I want you to punish me. Like you said, remember? I want you to be rough with me.”

“Rough?” Shane repeated.

“Yeah.” Ricky licked his lips, his eyes searching Shane’s face, looking for something in the notches where he’d cut himself shaving, in the curl of wet hair hanging over his forehead. “It’s kind of what I like.”

“Rough... huh. I think I can do rough.” With that, Shane swivelled around, pressing Ricky against the wall. “Like this, right?”

Ricky let out a soft chuckle, grinning up at him.

“Yeah, you’ve got it. But you don’t have to be so polite about it. Just go for it.”

Shane frowned.

“What if I hurt you?”

“You’re such a doll,” Ricky murmured, reaching a hand out to brush around the curve of Shane’s ear. “I’ll let you know – but I don’t think you could hurt me.”

“Yeah, right, Goldsworth... I could take you down like _this_ ,” Shane said, snapping his fingers. He took half a step back, looking over Ricky’s body, eyes lingering for a moment more on sensitive areas, the places he had been trained to aim for on a crook – well, only if they happened to put up a fight, of course. “You seem to forget that I’m a cop.”

The elevator dinged, doors sliding open to reveal a hallway.

“Believe me, baby,” Ricky replied, picking up his cane with one hand, pulling Shane close with the other, “I want you to make me remember.”

◦◦◦

The two stumbled through the door, unflinching as it slammed shut behind them. Shane was too busy pushing Ricky into the room, step by drunken step, to focus on anything as inconsequential as a little noise. He slid two fingers under Ricky’s stiff collar, undoing the hidden clasp, tugging his tie off, until Ricky felt the bed hit the back of his legs. He steadied himself, leaning into Shane, pressing the cane down between them.

“You’ve been a bad, bad boy. Haven’t you, Goldsworth?” Shane said, smirking. One of his hands slunk to the back of Ricky’s head, fingers gliding through his slicked hair, smooth, before he formed a fist. Ricky gasped as Shane pulled him by his hair, tugging his head back until he was forced to look at him.

“Only a little,” Ricky managed, gritting a genuine smile through the pain. “No worse than you.”

“You think you’re such a good liar.” Shane lightly kicked his cane with the edge of one of his wingtips. “Maybe even an actor. But I know everything I need to, just from looking at you.” He stepped forward, pressing his knee into Ricky’s crotch, smiling when he felt how hard he was.

“Guess the kisses are just for fun then, huh?”

Shane jerked Ricky’s head back by his hair again, earning a dry, breathless moan from him.

“Your cane,” Shane said, gazing over Ricky’s face, eyes lingering on his mouth.

“What about it?”

Shane kicked his leg out, sending Ricky’s cane flying out of his right hand. He smiled, satisfied, as he watched it clatter across the cheap carpet, something rattling inside as it slid to a stop.

“It’s a gun.” He looked back at Ricky, loosening his grip on his hair. “A rifle made to look like a walking stick.”

“Good _eye_ , detective,” Ricky replied, sounding genuinely impressed. “I must say,” he went on, lazily reaching his hands out to straighten Shane’s tie, “I _like_ a man who pays attention.”

“Usually, it’s all I can afford.” A crooked smile floated to the surface of Shane’s face. He leaned into the crook of Ricky’s neck, bringing his mouth up against his ear. “You know that’s an unregistered firearm, don’t you?”

Shane felt Ricky’s smirk in the way his cheek shifted, pressing into Shane’s ear.

“You know just what to say to a gal, how to make her feel so special – don’t you, detective?”

Shane pushed Ricky in the centre of his chest, hard, with both hands. The unexpected force sent him falling, legs folding over the footboard to land in the bed, lying on his back.

“I’m gonna have to rough you up for that,” Shane muttered, sliding his shoes off before kneeling onto the bed, placing his hands on either side of Ricky’s head.

“Really?” Ricky purred, badly hiding his grin with his hand.

“Yeah. Like a common criminal.”

“Oh, Shane,” Ricky murmured, “how did I know you’d say that?” With that, he shifted to sit up on his elbows, running one hand over the back of Shane’s head, before whispering in his ear.

_“There’s handcuffs in the bedside table.”_

The words ran red-hot skin across Shane’s ears as he sat up, reaching over to pull the small, wooden drawer open. Sure enough, there was a pair of handcuffs, laying next to a small, silver key.

He pulled them out, feeling the familiar weight of the metal in his hands, clinking the three connecting links against each other. The only odd thing about them was that they were slightly wet, droplets of water sitting over the metal, cold against Shane’s skin.

“You know how to use them, don’tcha?” Ricky asked. He pulled his jacket off, throwing the fine fabric over the side of the bed, before stretching back in the bed.

Shane realised he had been staring at the handcuffs for a little too long, his breathing falling harder, heavier than usual. He moved back to straddle Ricky again, pulling the cuffs taut in front of him.

“Give me your hands,” Shane ordered. Ricky was only too happy to bring his wrists up, for Shane to click both of them shut in a second.

“What should I do, officer?”

“Nothing,” Shane replied, shifting to lean over Ricky. “Just stay still, for now. I'll tell you when I want you to move.”

Shane ran both hands through his hair, now damp with sweat, before dragging a thumb down the line of buttons on Ricky’s waistcoat. He licked his lips, mind racing, wavering, unsure, for a moment. _Where in the world do I start?_

He finally settled on unbuttoning Ricky’s clothes as he leaned down to kiss him. Starting with a smattering of kisses around Ricky’s mouth, he earned a quiet chuckle – until he started to use his tongue, intermittently biting and pulling Ricky’s bottom lip back, making him cry out.

After what could’ve been seconds or minutes or days of Shane wearing him down, mouth burning hot as an iron as his hands worked, careful, deliberate, he finally pulled the layers of Ricky’s suit back, exposing his chest. Unable to take the clothes off, Shane left the fabric crumpled by Ricky’s shoulders.

Ricky shivered as Shane curled a hand over his cuffs, pulling them over his head, until his hands were pressed against the headboard. Shane held them there, grinning, as he pressed his mouth against Ricky’s collarbone, leaving a rocky trail of soft, sweet kisses and short, sharp bites along the way.

Ricky instinctively tried to bring a hand to his mouth to stifle a moan, only digging the edges of the handcuffs harder against his wrists as he gasped and whined. Shane just laughed at him, sitting up to press even more pressure against Ricky’s growing hard-on.

“Something you want to say, lovebird?” he asked. Every shift of Shane’s hips sent sparks through Ricky’s body, the slightest movement making him whimper. “Just let it out.”

“This isn’t fair,” Ricky moaned. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Shane murmured. He ran a hand over Ricky’s chest as he spoke, briefly pausing to brush a thumb against one of his hard nipples. His hand was slow as it trailed along his skin, now damp with sweat, until it reached Ricky’s erection, throbbing against his black pants. Shane smiled, swirling a finger over the fabric.

“Fuck,” Ricky groaned, falling like a house of cards into the too-delicate touch, voice growing breathless as he begged. “I want... you. Need you, Shane... now... please!” he cried out.

Shane said nothing, responding by grabbing the handcuffs again, jerking them towards his hips until Ricky was forced to sit up. He just grinned, bringing his free hand up to Ricky’s open, heaving mouth, touching a finger to the drool that was collecting at the corner of his lips.

“I’m gonna let everyone know that you’re mine,” Shane growled, tugging the handcuffs down again, pressing Ricky’s naked chest to himself.

He curled a hand over Ricky’s shoulder, lingering on the scar, before leaning in and biting down, hard as he could. Ricky couldn’t hold himself back as he screamed, moaned, shuddered as Shane’s teeth dug into his shoulder. He howled, yelling out something that sounded like “more”, as the pain twisted into pleasure, sending him writhing under Shane’s harsh, beautiful touch.

He barely felt Shane’s nails as they sunk into the back of his neck, pressing four perfect, purple bruises into his skin. Shane groaned against his shoulder, instinctively grinding his body against Ricky’s, until he tasted the familiar pang of blood.

He pulled back, smiling softly, almost _apologetically_ , at Ricky, briefly searching his expression for any signs telling him that he had gone too far.

“You okay, baby?” Shane whispered, watching as Ricky heaved, breaths rough and dry, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. “Need me to stop?”

Ricky laughed at that, shifting on the bed.

“Sugar, I need you to _start_ ,” he murmured, emphatically thrusting his hips forward, wrists still hanging in front of him.

Shane grinned, though he raised an eyebrow at the nickname.

“Good. But call me detective.” He looked over Ricky again, appreciating all the angles and edges of his muscular torso for a moment longer, before he spoke again. “And get on your knees.”

Ricky obeyed, crawling off the bed as Shane sat up, pressing his feet flat against the carpet. He kneeled between Shane’s knees, looking up at him.

“Wh...” Ricky quietly coughed, trying to hide the blush that had crept over his face. “What do you want me to do, detective?”

Shane ruffled Ricky’s hair, smiling.

“I think you know, sweetheart.” He kept his hands running loose through Ricky’s hair. The memory of how it had been pulled it back just moments earlier made him tremble. “I want you to make me come.”

Combined with Shane’s filthy words, it was almost too much to bear.

Ricky reached up to undo Shane’s fly, hands clunky and awkward in the cuffs, fingers brushing against Shane’s erection, the touch frustratingly dulled through the fabric of his boxers. Ricky couldn’t stop his hands shaking as he rushed to dig his fingers under the waistband of Shane’s underwear, pulling it down to his thighs.

Shane moaned, bucking his hips as Ricky put his mouth against the tip of his cock. He swirled his tongue over the hot flesh, over his slit to lick up a drop of pre-come, earning a gasp from Shane.

He tugged Ricky’s hair again, fingers instinctively curling, tangling to jerk his head back.

Ricky looked up at him through his eyelashes, lips still wrapped around Shane, stifling a small shiver at the pain that ran over his scalp. He knotted his hands in the bedsheets, taking a breath, before taking Shane in deeper, tongue drunkenly running across his skin.

Shane slouched over him, both hands cupping the back of Ricky’s head, pushing him further down until he was gagging, until he was taking the whole length, until he was moaning, voice vibrating against Shane’s dick – that last part pushing Shane over the edge.

He shuddered, balling the hand in Ricky’s hair into a fist, crying out as he came.

After a few seconds – silent, except for the deep breaths making each of their chests rise and fall – Shane brought his hands to grip Ricky’s jaw, bringing his face up until their mouths were pressed together. They kissed rough and drunk and dirty, Shane pushing his tongue in to taste himself, how salty and sticky he’d left the inside of Ricky’s mouth.

He wrapped one arm around Ricky’s back, the other snaking down to his dick, struggling for a moment to undo the buckle of his belt, before he reached into Ricky’s waistband. He wrapped his fingers around his cock, pumping in time to the languid way their tongues rolled over each other. He kept his grin against Ricky’s mouth as he grunted and groaned, rocking his hips into the touch. It only lasted for a moment more before Ricky came as well, thrusting into Shane’s hand.

Once he’d finished, Shane fell back against the bed, pulling Ricky down with him.

They stayed like that, staring at the ceiling as their skin burned red with blood, so slick with sweat that the sheets stuck to them. Shane closed his eyes for a few moments, catching his breath, listening to Ricky’s panting.

After a few minutes, Shane reached over to the bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out the key. He fiddled with Ricky’s handcuffs for a bit before they clicked open again, falling on the bed, revealing the faint red indents they had left behind.

“That might leave a mark,” Shane murmured, running a thumb over one of Ricky’s wrists. Ricky flashed a lazy smile at him, giving something like a shrug.

“That usually fades pretty quickly. I’d be more worried about _this_ ,” he replied, running a hand over his left shoulder. His faint, moon-shaped scar was now circled by a distinct bite mark. Peering a little closer, Shane realised that one of his canines had broken the skin, leaving a pinprick of bright red blood.

He grinned, sheepish, laying back in the bed.

“Hey, you were the one who asked for ‘rough’.”

“I’m not complaining, sugar.” Ricky adjusted his head on the pillow, staring straight at Shane. “I have permission to call you that now, right?”

“Sure you can, baby,” Shane chuckled.

“Good. I’m glad to hear that,” Ricky said, smiling. “Y’fancy a smoke?”

“You know me too well.”

Ricky sat up, finally shrugging off his crumpled waistcoat and dress-shirt, letting them fall to the floor. He stood up to find his jacket, searching through the pockets until he found a box of Marlboros and a lighter.

Shane sat back in bed as Ricky passed him a cigarette. He grabbed one for himself, too, before flicking the lighter, lighting Shane’s first – _like a true gentleman._

Shane watched intently as Ricky lit his own smoke. His eyes caught on the confident way Ricky threw the cap open, the way the dazzling blue-orange flame appeared in the blink of an eye, the simple, dented, and somewhat familiar design carved into the metal...

“Ricky,” Shane started, not having taken a single drag.

Ricky’s head was tilted back, partway through puffing out a cloud of grey smoke, aiming it at the ceiling. “Yeah?” he breathed, eyes still on the rising smoke.

“Is that my fucking lighter?”

There was a beat of shocked silence as both men stared at each other, unmoving. Ricky seemed to hesitate for a second, one hand still clutching the hunk of metal, biting his bottom lip. A moment later, he was shifting in the bed to face Shane, looking up at him with a lopsided smirk.

“Oh, that. I just,” he said, waving his cigarette around, as if that would aid the explanation. “You know.”

Shane raised an eyebrow at him. _No, I don’t know._

Ricky scratched the back of his neck, taking a quick drag.

“Shane,” he breathed, smoke falling from his mouth as he spoke, blanketing the word in white wisps. “You remember, don’t you? The night we met.” He didn’t bother to bite his lip down any longer, a downright devilish smile breaking across his face. “When I offered you a light.”

Shane’s eyes widened.

“You didn’t,” he whispered, helpless to stop himself from grinning, even as he shook his head.

Ricky suddenly refused to meet Shane’s gaze, eyes searching the ceiling as he let out a little hum.

“You _pickpocketed_ me?” Shane shrieked.

Ricky just leaned back in the bed, arms folded behind his head, lips working around his cigarette.

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “How else was I supposed to get your attention?”


	6. Chapter 6

After a weekend of nothing but the enigma that was Ricky, showing up at the office to do some actual work was much more tedious than usual for Shane.

He’d left that cheap hotel the next morning, holding a handful of cash for the cab home and a scrap of paper with Ricky’s phone number. Unfortunately, picking up the morning paper on his way in, Shane realized that it was, in fact, a Monday, and he was due in at work in 45 minutes.

Staring at himself in the mirror, focusing through the vague sense that everything was spinning, he took in his subpar appearance – purple smudges under his eyes, uneven patches of stubble sprouting above his beard, and, _yep_ , something like the beginning of a rash around his mouth – and considered working from home.

Until, of course, he remembered how he’d been “working from home” for most of the week before... as well as the week before that.

Considering that he hadn’t called in any suspects for that pesky homicide case he’d been assigned, he figured it wouldn’t be too long until the captain would start to question just how effective of a work environment his bedroom was, or – worse – drag him into the office on the weekend to make up for it.

Groaning, he trudged into the kitchen, resisting the urge to just down a handful of aspirin and flop onto the couch. Instead, he set the coffee to brew and ran back to the bathroom, stripping out of his wrinkled suit, swearing when he found the left sleeve stained in bright blue ink.

◦◦◦

He ended up heading into the office religiously for the rest of the week, swamped with work from all sides. People got him to interview friends of friends of potential suspects, go on location to get samples of clothing and find out where they were bought, verify the validity of what turned out to be a stack of badly forged passports, et cetera.

That wasn’t too bad – basically par for the course of a lackey detective. Maybe a little much when he had to go out and do things in the morning, but bearable.

It was the _other_ stuff that drove him mad: co-workers kindly ordering him to figure out the mystery of who broke the coffee pot (in other words: “pick up the pieces and buy another one before we fire you”); running around in search of a document for two hours before finding out it had been lost in the mail months ago; and worst of all, writing long, sprawling, pointless reports.

Shane came home late every night, quietly cursing the annoyances of the day under his breath as he fiddled with his front door in the dark.

Things like _I can’t believe I missed lunch for the world’s most mind-numbing meeting_

and _is Bigfoot in charge of organising the file cabinets?_

and _I still haven’t found a compelling suspect for those axe homicides_

and _when I find out who shattered that fucking coffee pot..._

Once he’d shoved the key into the small – _no, it’s not just small, it’s tiny, practically invisible... seriously, does this thing move when I’m not looking?_ – keyhole, he fried up one of his depressing bachelor meals. It was usually something like a single egg and a few pieces of lettuce. The green leaves on his plate were purely there to reassure him that he wouldn’t shrivel up from malnutrition – at least, not in the next few days.

After dinner, he would crack open one of the windows in the lounge, turning off all the lights except for a small lamp by the couch. Sitting down, normally sometime past 9 or 10pm, he picked up the phone on his coffee table, dialling the number. With everything so dark, so quiet and alone, every click and spin of the dial echoed like a bell.

After the first time he’d called, it would only take one or two rings for Ricky to pick up.

“Hey, baby. How are you?”

“Tired, as usual,” Shane sighed, stretching back to sink into the couch. He loosened his tie, fingers idly playing with the fabric as he listened.

“That’s too bad,” Ricky replied, the phone giving his voice an odd, crackly quality. Shane glanced at the space on the couch next to him. “Something got you down?”

“Only everyone at the office. They all talk to me like I’ve got time to burn.”

“That’s too, too bad,” Ricky repeated, the words coming slower, deeper than before. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s people who waste my time.” Shane pressed the receiver closer to his ear.

“I’m the same,” Shane breathed. “And here I am, I’m wasting yours, complaining about things that don’t matter.”

Ricky laughed, the sound followed by some rustling on his end. Shane pictured him on the other end of the couch – just at arm’s length – shifting, grinning into his receiver, fingers tangling in the telephone cord, catching on his gold rings. The image of him changed from night to night – sometimes he’d be in his full suit, lost hat back on his head, cane resting over his crossed legs.

Sometimes he was in nothing but Shane’s robe, skin still shiny from the shower.

“You’re never a waste of my time,” Ricky murmured, barely himself under all the static that chewed at his voice.

“Everything’s just so dull without you.” _I wish you were here, and I wish I could touch you._ “How are you, anyway?”

“I’m busy as well.” There was a brief pause as something seemed to clatter on Ricky’s end. “Have to take dinner in bed,” he explained, speaking through a mouthful.

“What’re you eating?”

“Hm? Oh, soup, steak, some Greek salad.”

Shane couldn’t help it – he actually let out a groan.

“What?”

“I’ve been out of real food since yesterday. Been living on fried eggs ever since.”

Ricky chuckled.

“I’m not joking. I can’t even add cheese and pretend it’s an omelette anymore.”

“Oh, Shane.” He left a thoughtful pause. “I should cook for you, sometime.”

“Sometime real soon,” Shane murmured.

“How’s Friday?”

“Perfect.” Shane’s heart pumped heat through every vein in his body, almost making the phone slip with the sweat that coated his palms. “Gives me an excuse to run from work before the sun goes down.”

“Perfect indeed,” Ricky teased, grin loud in his voice. “Dinner at mine?”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll give you the address tomorrow.”

“Great.”

Both of them wavered, unsure whether or not it was time to say goodbye.

“Shane?”

“Yeah?”

“I shouldn’t say it, but... I want you,” he sighed. “Really, really want you, next to me, right now. I just—I wish you were here.” His voice dipped in and out of heavy static, broken and uneven and gorgeous. “I wish I could touch you.”

Shane swallowed a lump in his throat, stricken by an inexplicable, unmistakable pang of sadness. The Ricky sitting next to him blurred, seemed to turn grey, face hidden behind a cloud of smoke.

“I miss you, too.”

◦◦◦

It was a different hotel, the second time – a much nicer place. Shane only had to wait a few seconds after knocking on room 717 before the door swung open.

“Shane!” Ricky laughed, stretching up to press a quick kiss to his cheek, before wrapping one arm around him in a sort of half-hug. He smelled of sweat and spices, something like ginger and lemongrass. “How’ve you been, honey?” he asked, his voice muffled against the shoulder of Shane’s jacket. He stepped back a moment later, looking over the uniform Shane had come in – eyes lingering on the golden badge pinned over his chest. “Working for the weekend?”

“As always,” Shane replied, a smile instantly brightening his face. “Maybe a little more than usual. Sorry about the outfit – it was the only way I could get here on time,” he explained, self-consciously fiddling with the stiff collar. He could hear something sizzling inside Ricky’s place.

“No need to be, sugar,” Ricky said, grinning right back at him. “Besides, I _like_ a man in uniform. Come in, I’m almost done with dinner,” he added, pulling the door back.

Shane pulled his boots and socks off at the entrance, treading barefoot over the lush carpet to sit on one of the large, white sofas that stood in the centre of the room. The wall behind it was open in an ornate arch, framing the king-sized bed that took up most of the bedroom on the other side. Though all the windows in the room were propped open, letting in the cool evening air, and the ceiling fan was spinning above them, the room was still hot, filled with the smell of food cooking.

Ricky closed the door behind himself, following Shane into the living room. As he approached the couch, Shane started to shift over.

“Ah, don’t worry,” Ricky murmured, lazily waving a hand at him, taking a seat on the coffee table instead, leaning back on his arms.

The sleeves of his dress-shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and the first few buttons were undone, showing off his collarbone and a lick of his chest. Shane smiled when he spotted a mark – just a small bruise, barely even purple anymore – on his neck.

“Not that I don’t wanna be close to you,” Ricky said. His hair was combed back, with a few stray strands hanging over his forehead. He crossed his legs and rested them on the couch next to Shane, tossing his head back. “I just don’t wanna soak you in sweat.” He paused, bringing a thoughtful finger up to his chin. “Well – not yet.”

Shane chuckled, slouching forward.

“It’s fine – I spent most of the day running around, anyway,” he replied, running a hand over Ricky’s ankle, softly sliding the leg of his pants up until it was rolled halfway up his shin. He absentmindedly drew swirling patterns over the skin as he spoke.

“Chasing criminals?” Ricky asked. He shifted into Shane’s touch, stretching his legs out and arching back.

“I wish. It’s more like chasing papers. We gotta write a report whenever the wind blows too hard.”

Ricky leaned forward, softly blowing a breath out against Shane’s face, making him giggle.

“Guess you gotta run back to the office,” Ricky sighed.

“Yep.” Shane shook his head. “Time to arrest a _g-g-g-ghost!”_

The corner of Ricky’s mouth quirked up in a smile.

“You ever have any cases like that?”

Shane scrunched up his nose.

“Like what?”

“You know.” Ricky shrugged his shoulders. “Where you’re dealing with the supernatural.”

Shane almost laughed out loud, but caught himself at the last moment. Instead, he just stared, incredulous, at Ricky’s fairly serious expression.

“Do you... believe in ghosts, Ricky?”

Ricky narrowed his eyebrows.

“Well. I don’t _not_ believe in them.”

Shane blinked.

“I... can’t say I’ve ever listed the supernatural as a cause for criminal activity.” _Because if I did, I would get fired for drinking on the job._

“You don’t think ghosts could feasibly exist? Ever?”

“No?” Shane said, suddenly unsure as to how the conversation had ended up at this point. Ricky was sitting up, his face a few inches away, so close that Shane could see the droplets of sweat collecting above his lip. He shook his head, somehow disappointed.

“Haven’t you ever encountered something bizarre? Something you can’t explain?”

“Sure,” Shane shrugged. “All the time. Doesn’t mean ghosts are responsible.”

“Shane,” Ricky sighed. “Don’t you have any imagination?” He smiled again, shifting his legs until his feet were resting in in Shane’s lap. “Don’t worry – I won’t hold it against you.”

“Guess you’ll hold it against something else instead,” Shane muttered, trying not to squirm too much as Ricky brushed against his crotch.

“Well,” Ricky went on, pretending not to notice the predicament he was putting Shane in, “if we’re just limiting ourselves to the mortal realm, here – do you ever get any interesting cases?”

“Interesting?” Shane thought for a moment, wrapping his hands around Ricky’s ankles. “Hm. Well. Sometimes. But I haven’t solved a damn thing for more than a month.” He let out a groan as he spoke, stretching back. “If I don’t do something, the captain’s gonna have my head on a plate.”

“Sounds like you could use a drink. Well, we both could,” Ricky conceded, looking up at the ceiling, watching the blades of the fan cut through the air.

“Another rough week?” Shane asked.

“In a way.” Ricky looked back down at him, tired smile reaching his eyes. “But it’s been a little less painful than usual.”

“Oh?” Shane raised an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“I know that when I get home, I can talk to a friend of mine. A good friend.” Ricky ran a thumb over the stubble on his jaw, bringing it to his bottom lip. “That makes things a little easier.”

“Must be a lucky guy.”

“Oh, please – _I’m_ the lucky one.” Ricky shifted back, slowly sliding his legs off the couch, making Shane give a small whine. “At least the week is over. Come on, let’s forget about business, and just get down to pleasure. Follow me.”

Ricky got up to walk over to the kitchen, Shane barely a step behind him. Next to the stovetop – which held a frying pan with a sizzling steak, and a pot of soup – Ricky had laid out some vegetables over a wooden chopping board.

“God, it smells so good,” Shane said, leaning on the counter. Ricky turned the stove off, grabbing a spatula from one of the drawers at his hip.

“It’s ready,” he said, poking at the steak, turning one perfectly grilled side over to reveal another. “I’ve just gotta prepare the salad.” He opened the drawer again, pulling a large chef’s knife out. He cut a small piece of the steak from the pan, fanning it for a few seconds, before stabbing it with a fork and offering it to Shane.

“Thanks,” he said, biting it off the fork.

“What’s the verdict?” Ricky asked, turning to sink, quickly putting the blade under a gush of running water.

“Eleven out of ten.”

“Only eleven?” Ricky teased. He moved over to the chopping board, smoothly slicing a tomato in half.

“I’m feeling particularly critical today,” Shane laughed. “Seriously, though – how can you cook so well?”

“I’m trying not to piss off the guy with handcuffs,” Ricky said, gesturing to Shane’s utility belt. “Or, I’m at least trying to get him to hold out until after we’ve eaten.”

Shane smirked, pressing a kiss to Ricky’s temple. “Good plan.”

“Isn’t it? There’s wine, somewhere in the fridge. Would you be a darling and pour me a glass?”

“Sure.”

Shane kneeled down to open the small fridge, taking a bottle out, placing it on the counter. He pulled the cork out, pouring the deep, blood-red liquid into two small glasses, working to the sound of Ricky’s knife coming down against the cutting board. He held one of the glasses to his lips, carefully handing the other one to Ricky.

“Thanks,” he said. He leaned his head back, taking a long, long drink, not noticing the drop that ran down his chin, only pulling away once the glass was almost empty.

“Thirsty?” Shane asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Hot.” Ricky put the glass down to wipe his forehead. “A cool drink is always the fastest fix.” He smiled through faintly red-stained lips, going back to slicing vegetables. “I thought you’d have figured that out by now.”

“There’s a lot I still haven’t figured out,” Shane murmured, eyes trailing over Ricky’s back, slumped over the kitchen counter, a fresh splash of wine now staining the collar of his shirt. One of his sleeves was starting to fall back down his arm, the fabric badly wrinkled.

“Detective,” Ricky said, the word quiet, making Shane look up, meet him at his dark, heavily-lidded eyes, framed in faded, grey shadows. His sudden, unwavering stare made goosebumps run over Shane’s back.

“Yeah?”

“I wanna know. Well – it’s no secret that I like you,” Ricky started, something like an embarrassed smile fluttering over his face, before his mouth fell back to a harsh line. “And maybe you like me, too.” He put the knife down, holding his hands out, like all his cards were on the table. “I wanna know – who am I?”

Shane tilted his head to one side.

“What— what do you mean by that?”

“You know.” Ricky glanced at him, looking up through his eyelashes. “It’s your job to figure people out, isn’t it? Don’tcha wanna try it on me?”

“I thought you said we were going to forget about business?” Shane said, trying out a light-hearted tone. It didn’t fit right – and in any case, Ricky went on, ignoring him.

“So – what do you make of me?”

Shane wrapped an arm over his own stomach, the other mindlessly swirling the wine in his glass. The two steps it would take to reach Ricky suddenly seemed painfully big.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, watching as Ricky went back to cutting vegetables, building a dull rhythm, metal thumping against wet wood _._ “You’ve got s-something.” Shane felt his foot tapping on the kitchen floor, the linoleum growing cold against his skin. “Something to do with all that money you’re always showing off.”

“Mm-hm?”

_Chop, chop, chop._

“Something that gives you power, or influence, over others. I mean— it’s more than just money, isn’t it?” Shane took another quick sip of his wine, hoping it would stop the hot, spiky sweat running down the back of his neck. “It’s money with a promise.”

“A promise of what?” Ricky breathed. Shane glanced at his hands, the hard skin wet with sweat and water and vegetable juice, the knuckles turning white, shaking ever so slightly with every precise, perfect press of the knife.

 “You’re good with weapons,” Shane said. “You carry them in a million different forms, always hidden on yourself – the gun in your cane, the knife up your sleeve. You promise violence if someone doesn’t give you what you want.”

_Chop, chop, chop._

“And the money—it’s not yours.” Shane frowned, studying Ricky’s rumpled sleeve – the odd way it hung over his arm. “You’re not used to it. You’ve spent it all on overpriced hotel rooms and clothes that don’t fit you.”

_Chop, chop, chop._

“And the hotel rooms – you’re always moving, never in the same place for more than a few days at a time. I think—I’m not sure, but I think you’re running from someone. Something.”

_Chop, chop, chop._

“I’m only certain about one thing.” Shane brought a finger up to his mouth, chewing on the edge of his nail. “The name – Ricky Goldsworth.” Shane’s eyes flicked over to his face, staring down at his hands, one on the knife, one flat against the cutting board. “It’s not yours.”

He slammed the point of the blade down, sending the sickening crack of wood splitting apart echoing throughout the room.

_Chop._

“You look that up in your little files at the precinct?” he asked, voice quiet, quivering.

“What?” Shane’s eyes grew wide. “Of course not! I’d never... it’s just—”

“It’s just _what?”_ Ricky screamed, eyes wild. Shane’s fingers curled, hard, around the stem of his wineglass, desperate to stop his hands from trembling.

“It’s just... Y-you know...” He shrugged, helpless. “It’s too obvious. The kind of name you’d pick up at a dime store.”

Ricky fixed him with an unseeing stare, eyes trailing down to his collarbone.

_Or— or maybe that’s not quite what I meant._

In the second it took Shane to register footsteps thumping over the linoleum, Ricky’s hands were already over his neck, the soft pads of his thumbs pressing against his throat, fingernails digging into his spine.

He jolted at the unexpected touch, dropping his drink.

The glass shattered, the sound ringing high and loud, and Shane felt the cool, sticky liquid seep between his toes.

“You better watch your tongue, detective,” Ricky murmured, speaking through an unfamiliar smile. “I know how to handle myself – knife or not.”

“Your hands,” Shane gasped, writhing, reaching up to wrap his fingers over Ricky’s wrists.

“Very observant, Shane,” Ricky laughed. “They’re touching you. Can you guess where?”

“Not _that_ ,” Shane groaned. “Your... palms.”

“What about them?” Ricky purred. “What do they _tell_ you about me?”

“The skin is all cracked. Rough and dry at the edges.” Shane coughed. “Covered in calluses.”

Ricky shrugged, rolling his eyes.

“Rewards of a hard day’s work.”

“Not at a desk job,” Shane reasoned, curling his fingers over Ricky’s skin, squirming under the touch. “More like something you’d get from working with tools. Working on a farm.”

“Work _ed_ ,” Ricky corrected, lighting squeezing both hands over Shane’s neck, making him gulp, gasp for air. “But that was all _such_ a long time ago.” Ricky let out an overdramatic sigh.

“Is that where the scar comes from?”

“Of course. Daddy had some strange ideas of how to punish bad boys.” Ricky winked. “Maybe you know the feeling.”

Shane elected to ignore the blood that burned under his cheeks.

“So you—what, ran away?”

“More like... disappeared.” Ricky pressed his thumbs a little harder into Shane’s neck, the action bringing another strained noise out of him. “Besides, I’ve grown since then. Killed a lot more than calves.”

“I figured you were a k-killer,” Shane choked out. “But it was just a... suspicion. Fuck, I can’t breathe!”

Ricky loosened his grip a fraction, tilting his head to the side. _Go on,_ he mouthed.

“The recent axe murders,” Shane spluttered. “All those men.” He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing against Ricky’s hands. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

“Congratulations!” Ricky sang out, gently pushing Shane back. He was navigating around the broken glass, making his way towards the living room. “You figured me out, detective! Say, down by that little station of yours – do they give out any other shiny badges if you get something right?”

“Who were they, Ricky?” Shane could barely focus on the feeling of being pushed, of almost falling, only kept upright by those damned, insistent hands, stuck to his neck. “Old flames of yours?”

“Oh, you wish,” Ricky laughed, lightly shaking his head. “As if I’d be such a cliché! See, this is exactly what I’m talking about, Shane – you don’t have any _imagination.”_

Ricky took one last step forward, and Shane felt the back of his legs hit something soft, smooth. _Leather._

“And please— call me Ryan.”

He pulled his hands back from Shane’s neck, shoving him hard in the chest. Shane fell back, sprawling over the white cushions of the couch, his vision spinning before him.

He laid like that for a moment, heart beating against his ears, the gadgets on his belt pressing into his back, his chest rising and falling, timed to follow his ragged, greedy breaths of air.

“Ryan,” he begged, the word coming out dry and raspy.

“There’s just one mystery that I can’t help but find fascinating, detective,” Ryan murmured, slowly stepping around the couch until he was leaning over Shane. “I was wondering if you could solve it for me.”

“What’s... that?” Shane breathed, meeting Ryan’s glinting gaze.

“Your belt.”

“...Wh—?” Shane managed to raise an eyebrow. “What about it?”

Ryan stood back up, bringing a hand up to his chin.

“Well, I suppose it’s not just the belt,” he mused. “Honestly; it’s you.”

“Me?” Shane gave Ryan a sideways glance. _What about me?_

“Yep. You’ve had your gun, your handcuffs, probably some fairly adequate general self-defence training – that is, if your buddies down at the station have had any say about it – on your person since you walked in the door.”

And then Ryan was kneeling to sit on top of Shane, straddling his stomach.

“Uh-huh,” Shane huffed out, “so? What’s the mystery?”

Ryan chuckled, lightly rocking his hips against Shane.

“Don’t know if you’ve been paying attention,” he whispered, stretching his arms until they were over Shane’s head, gripping the side of the couch, “but I told you – in no uncertain terms, mind you – exactly why I’m going to hell.” Ryan let out a breath of air, blowing stray strands of hair out of his face. “And it’s for things a whole lot worse than fancying gentlemen. And yet,” he went on, “you’re still here.”

One of Ryan’s hands snaked down Shane’s side, reaching out to lightly tap against his gun.

“Why haven’t you shot me yet? I’ve given you plenty of time, haven’t I? Look, I’ll even pose for you,” he said, lazily raising his hands over his head.

Shane shifted under Ryan’s weight, groaning.

“It’s because... Fuck, Ryan. I think you know why,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” Ryan chuckled, bringing his hands back down to cup Shane’s cheek. “I guess I do.” He rolled his hips again, arching his back like a goddamn pin-up girl. “But I’d _really_ like to hear it from your mouth.”

“Because, it’s because...” Shane panted, face heating up with shame and pleasure.

He finally brought a quivering hand up to Ryan’s hip, fingers running under the loose fabric to trace over his warm, slightly damp skin.

“It’s because it’s _you_ ; Ryan... Ricky, whoever the fuck you are!” Shane growled, finally sitting up. “Haven’t had anything else on my mind since I met you, and all you do is tease me, turn me on. I’m fucking crazy for you like no one else.”

“Uh- _huh_. Well, what’re you gonna do about it?” Ryan asked, a hand lazily running over the back of Shane’s neck. The memory of the pressure that had just been there ran a thrill through Shane, making him shudder.

“The bedroom,” he mumbled, moving to press his mouth up to Ryan’s ear. “If you’re gonna choke me anywhere, I think it should be there.”

◦◦◦

Ryan pushed Shane onto the bed, crawling over him a moment later, hands working to undo the line of black, shiny buttons that ran down the front of his uniform.

“Kiss me,” Shane groaned, hands fumbling with his own belt, eventually tossing it to the side.

The corner of Ryan’s lips quirked up in a sultry smile. He leaned down to meet Shane’s mouth with his own – hands still fumbling with the shirt, already down to Shane’s stomach – biting Shane’s bottom lip and pulling back, roughing the sweet skin up between his teeth.

“Like that?” he whispered, speaking an inch from Shane’s mouth.

“Y-yeah. Harder,” Shane breathed, grinding his hips against Ryan’s, desperate for the friction of skin on skin.

Ryan fiddled with the last button on Shane’s shirt, finally pulling it through. He grinned, humming as he ran his hands over the flushed skin, fluttering his fingers over Shane’s nipples, gently, at first. Shane squirmed, biting down on his reddened lips, trying to stop himself from being too vocal.

“But you’re so pretty, Shane,” Ryan sighed, running a thumb over one of his nipples, now hard. “I wouldn’t like to scratch up something so gorgeous.”

Shane laughed, the sound coming out low and dry.

“That is _such_ a lie!”

Ryan winked at him.

“You’re right,” he said, shifting over Shane. “I’d actually love it.”

He brought his lips down to Shane’s chest, sucking and chewing patches across the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of red, tingling marks behind. Once he reached his collarbone, he bit down, hard, long enough to draw a drop of blood, making Shane cry out.

Ryan smiled against the throbbing skin, humming, before he sat up again.

His hands brushed over Shane’s stomach, fingers following the line of coarse hair that trailed down from his bellybutton, disappearing into his waistband. Hooking a thumb into one of Shane’s belt loops, he pulled his pants and boxers down to his knees.

“Fuck,” Ryan huffed, face burning, practically drooling at the sight of Shane’s body writhing under his, half-naked and fully hard. He fumbled to undo his own belt with a new sense of urgency, gasping as the fabric brushed over his cock, teasing, unbearable.

Shane reached over to wrap his hands over Ryan’s wrists, digging his nails into the faintly reddened skin.

“Hands,” he mumbled. “On me. Again.”

Ryan nodded, tongue sitting dumb and dry in his mouth, as Shane held his hands, bringing them up to his neck. He slowly gripped the tender skin there, brushing his thumbs over the line of Shane’s throat.

The light pressure sent a blur of pleasure swimming over Shane’s eyes, spinning through his head, making him gasp, arching back against the silky bedsheets. His hands reached out automatically, desperate to grasp something something solid, something real, eventually finding it in the shifting muscles of Ryan’s back.

“Tell me if you need me to slow down,” Ryan whispered.

Shane responded with a groan, curling his fingers to dig his nails into Ryan’s skin.

“I need you to speed _up_ , lovebird.”

Ryan complied, bucking against Shane’s hips, squeezing his hands little harder. The spike in pain and pleasure made him cry out, mouth open and desperate, burning bright red with saliva and bite-marks. Ryan grinned at that, keeping one hand around his neck, moving the other down his chest until it was wrapped around Shane’s cock.

He leaned down, kissing Shane through all his little gasps and moans, pumping his dick in time to their ragged, hungry breaths – and it only took a few seconds before they both went over the edge, writhing, shuddering, coming over each other.

Ryan let out a heavy breath, rolling off of Shane, flopping down next to him. He struggled for a moment, fumbling to get out of his dirty clothes, before clicking the lamp on the bedside table off.

Shane stayed right next to him, head hot, body tired, everything numb with afterglow.

◦◦◦

All the bedroom windows had been left shut, making it too hot to bother with anything but underwear, so they had both just kept lying there, half-naked on top of the blankets.

It took what could have been an hour before both men realised that neither of them was going to sleep anytime soon, and a little longer than that before one of them spoke.

“Wanna smoke?” Ryan offered, starting to sit up in the bed.

“Sure,” Shane said, stretching his arms over his head as he stood up. “Thanks.”

He took a seat on a plush chair by the window, opening it to let some air in. Ryan brought a pack of cigarettes over, handing one to Shane (along with his lighter), before closing the box, sinking into the chair opposite him.

“Not in the mood?” Shane asked.

“Not really,” Ryan replied, shrugging, turning his head to face the window. In the near-dark, it was hard to focus on his features, tinted navy blue, lined in black shadows. He ran the fingers of one hand over the dusty windowsill, aimlessly fidgeting with the box of Marlboros.

Shane put the cigarette between his lips, flipping the top of his lighter. The bright orange spark spilled over Ryan’s face, lighting up his eyes – showed how they were fixed on Shane’s face, stuck to his mouth.

Shane took a nervous drag, extinguishing the moment in an exhale, pouring smoke out the window, watching as it disappeared in the evening air. He crossed his legs, leaning back in the chair.

“Am I allowed to ask?”

“Yeah,” Ryan sighed. “I guess I should tell you. I don’t really smoke.”

Shane raised his eyebrows.

“Um... you don’t?”

“Nope,” Ryan replied, tapping the box against the windowsill, like he was straightening a stack of cards.

“...Well. Um. That’s not where I was going, exactly. But—wait, what the hell do you mean you don’t smoke?”

Ryan pressed his elbow into the armrest, leaning his head against his hand.

“I don’t mind if you like it, baby. I actually kind of like the smell. But I can’t really stand doing the stuff, personally.”

“That’s... well, that’s not an issue, or anything, but, then, why do you have stuff like _that_ on you?” Shane asked, gesturing to the box on the windowsill.

Ryan laughed.

“I’m still getting some use out of it, aren’t I? As a gift.”

Shane took another quiet drag, shaking his head, a smile slowly spreading over his face.

“You’re such a hopeless romantic. Then, in the bar—you were only doing it impress me?”

“You got me, officer.” He sighed again, overdramatic as ever.

_Then—what? How the fuck did you make it look so good?_

Shane was lost, bewildered, yet again, at the bizarre turn the conversation had taken – something he’d probably have to get used to, sooner or later. He tried to get back on track.

“I actually wanted to ask about the... the murdering,” he said, as politely as he could.

“Sure,” Ryan said, seeming to take the change of topic pretty well. “What do you wanna know?”

“Um... I don’t want any details, or names, or anything like that,” Shane said, exhaling another cloud of smoke. _Mostly I wanna figure out how and why it turns me on so much – but I guess that can wait, for now._ “Just—well, why? What made you do it?”

“Why, indeed?” Ryan teased. “You really wanna know?”

Shane paused, worrying his cigarette between two fingers, before nodding.

“Because I could,” Ryan shrugged. “It’s as simple as that. I knew that I was smart enough to do it and not get caught.”

“How?” Shane asked, holding back an incredulous laugh. “How could you _possibly_ know that?”

“Because I think like you, detective,” Ryan explained, tapping his index finger to the side of his head, “only a little better. A little faster. I’d figured out how to scrape a crime scene clean of anything that could identify me in ten minutes, flat. I picked where to find my targets with a map stretched over a dartboard. You notice how you could never figure out where my clothes came from? How the threads and footprints got you nowhere?”

Shane’s breath hitched in his throat.

“Yeah?”

“They were always second-hand. Every single thing I wore. Makes it harder to trace.” Ryan aimlessly tapped his fingernails against the windowsill. “Not impossible, but certainly a lot harder than if I just bought them from the shop down the road.”

“...Jesus.”

“But I’ve been... I’m almost out of time, detective.” Ryan slumped forward, forearms resting on his knees. “I got careless, once or twice – and that’s all it takes. It might not seem like it now, but I think you got a lot closer to catching me than you thought. So I gave it up, and wasted my days at that old bar like they were my last. Figured someone would walk in, eventually, and throw me away to rot.”

In the distance, Shane heard something that could’ve been a car screeching against the road, or a bird crying out – among all the sounds lost in the darkness outside, he couldn’t be sure.

“And then the world’s most clueless detective had to walk in.”

He _was_ sure, however, that Ryan was speaking through a smile, softly laughing at him.

“Goddammit, Ryan,” he said, shaking his head, exasperated. “How did you... how the fuck did we end up like this? What made you become Ricky Goldsworth?” _And how did I fall for it?_

“I was just bored, really.” Ryan fiddled with the cigarette box again, rattling it in his hands. “Needed something to do with myself.”

Shane smiled a little, despite himself.

“Seriously?” he said. “You couldn’t have gotten into jazz, or something?”

A lopsided grin ran across Ryan’s face, reaching his dark, glinting eyes.

“And that’s why I like you, honey,” he chuckled. “You always know how to make me laugh.”


	7. Epilogue

Goldsworth—

Hope this finds you, somehow. God knows if this is really your address. Don’t ask me how I got it – all you need to know is that the process was a huge pain in my ass (just like you!).

I’m not here to send you birthday wishes, or anything – I just figured I should let you know that the cops are on your case. They’ve been sniffing around my place for the past few days, asking for you. No idea what you’ve done (or what they _think_ you’ve done), but I’ve kept my mouth shut.

Well, anyway – you probably already knew all that. So why am I going to the trouble of sending you fan mail?

The truth is I met a girl, and you’re the only one I could think of telling. I was kind of scared for a while – mostly of myself, I guess – but then I thought of you and your guy, you know? How you were loving him, just like that. Out in the open. Like no one could do a damn thing to stop you. And then I thought: why the hell don’t I do that?

So, I guess, in a way, I wanted to thank you.

Like I said, though, the cops are looking for you. Hope your man isn’t one of them! Once this cools down, I’ll have a table open for you two – assuming you’re still around.

And, look—I know you have a few regrets. Some things you can’t quite let go. You always hinted as much. But I hadn’t seen you smile for a long time—and then, suddenly, around this new string-bean of yours, it’s all you can do. Hold on to him, OK?

Don’t let your old demons eat you up inside – I’m pretty sure there’s something good in there. Just take care of yourself, okay?

And, for fuck’s sake – watch where you point that damn cane!

Jen x

◦◦◦

Shane paced over the docks, the old, warped wood beneath him creaking with every step. Salt water sloshed under him, flying up through the cracks in the planks, splashing droplets over the front of his leather briefcase. He stopped for a moment, scratching his beard, watching the seagulls swirling overhead, and let a breath out.

“How’s the weather looking?”

He smiled, turning to find the familiar voice.

“Pretty darn good,” he replied, dropping his suitcase, pulling the tickets out of his coat pocket. “Should be smooth sailing,” he said, handing one to Ryan, who accepted it with a small nod. “Still gonna take a few days, though.”

“How _ever_ will we occupy ourselves?” Ryan mused, straightening his tie.

“I just don’t know,” Shane sighed, the disappointed act not quite reaching his eyes. “There’s only so much fun we can find in watching the waves.”

“You’ll have to come to my room,” Ryan whispered, winking. “Borrow a book or something. You know how dangerous boredom can be.”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been on a boat before, so I’m pretty sure if I read anything other than the menu I’ll— wait.” Shane tilted his head, fixing Ryan with a stare. “ _Your_ room?”

“Is that an issue?” Ryan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I’m _so_ sorry,” Shane said, grinning. “Did I neglect to mention?”

“Mention what?”

“I only booked the one room.” Shane shrugged, as if he had no say in the matter. “Just so we could save a few extra dollars, of course.”

Ryan opened his mouth, about to respond, before a voice boomed over a megaphone, cutting off his train of thought.

“Boarding will begin in five minutes! Would all passengers have their luggage and tickets ready?”

Shane tugged on the sleeve of Ryan’s jacket, stepping towards the entrance of the docked ship.

“Come on,” he urged. “You can complain when we’re sharing breakfast in bed.”

Ryan rolled his eyes.

“I doubt I _can_ ,” he mumbled, following Shane towards the crowd, dragging his suitcase behind him. It only took a minute or two before they were at the front of the line, greeted by a woman with a clipboard.

“Afternoon, sirs!” she chirped. “Could I see your tickets, and get your reasons for travel, please?”

“Of course,” Shane replied, handing her the papers. “We’re going on a... business trip.”

Behind him, Ryan stifled a laugh with his hand, pretending to cough. Shane bit his tongue, quietly elbowing him in the ribs.

_Yup, this is just a business trip. I’m out on some business I have in Hawaii, that just might end up with me falling in love with the place and buying a house on the beach, where I’ll grow old and gay with my friend, here._

_Or, you know, whatever. Wherever the summer takes us, you know?_

“Excellent,” the lady said, too preoccupied with the paper in front of her to pay much attention to them. “And could I just get your names, please?”

“Sure. I’m Shane Madej – that’s M-A-D-E-J. And this is—”

“Goldsworth.” Ryan grinned, sneaking a hand over the small of Shane’s back, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “The name’s Ricky Goldsworth.”

◦◦◦

Jen,

Let me tell you, you’re damn lucky I got your letter at all!

My bag was already packed, and I’d just locked up the place. The only reason I checked the mail was ‘cause the cab was running a few minutes late, so I was stuck outside with nothing better to do – and what do I find?

Well, I guess I should thank you for the tip, and for keeping the pigs off my trail. I’m afraid I can’t take you up on that table (at least, not for a little while), but I appreciate it all the same.

I know I shouldn’t – and if you think it’ll be compromised, tear it up, burn it, eat it, whatever – but I’ve included a photo for all your troubles.

Good luck with your new gal xXxX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for giving my work a chance - i really hope you enjoyed the ride!  
> as always, comments and kudos are unbelievably appreciated <3  
> let me know if you guys would be interested in more work from me in the future - i have a few ideas for more shyan stuff, but nothing certain yet.
> 
> also, on the off chance anyone would like to create something transformative from this (like a podfic, fanart etc.) just know i would be incredibly happy for you to - provided you leave a comment/message letting me know :)  
> thank you again!! have a wonderful day!


End file.
